Amaranthine
by PoisonousAngel
Summary: SEQUEL TO MERCENARY. The battle for Gotham's soul has begun, and many have come to claim it. In the city where the powerful are corrupt, seduction has become fear. Pain has become strength. And a smile has become destruction. In the midst of war, fire eats, panic consumes, and love is blind. Who will win? Who will rise? Who will stay alive? Bane/OC
1. Forever Yours

_**Amaranthine**_

**Chapter 1**

**Forever Yours**

"_No love left in me. No eyes to see the heaven beside me. My time is yet to come, so I'll be forever yours." – Nightwish_

The city was black. Cold, empty of what it should have been, filled only with what would destroy it in the very end. Colorless, save for the swirls of gray, white, and that lovely black. Dark, just like its soul. With shadows choking it, devouring it. Killing it so very slowly. The light had never left because the light had never been here. The light could not survive in an endless shadow. The light was meaningless.

The city was corrupt. Little worms of rags and riches skipping about with their tattered shreds of clothing or their high priced designer suits as they thought the very same, making deals, making contracts. Making a list and checking it twice. The corruptness of the cesspool was not prejudice, but welcomed each and every kind. The homeless man on the side of the street would steal a child for a wealthy businessman if it meant a meal, a home, a chance to keep on living in the slums. The corrupt were the corrupt and no one was excluded from the club.

The city was bleak. The city was hard. The city was so many things all rolled into one terrible hell…

Gotham City was _hilarious_.

Where else could you find such fun? Where else could you find such _resources_? Why, everything was here, and more. Everything from capable and willing men, weapons, money, shelter. Pretty girls easily snatched by the mind. Pretty girls offering utter devotion…

So much fun. So many perks. Who knew?

He knew. He'd always known. Gotham was the place to be. Gotham was the place to make the mark. He'd been away for a while, but now he was coming back to reclaim what was his. The welfare of this place, the order of this great city would rest within the palm of his hand again. Years had passed, but he was ready. Finally, he was back. Finally, he had those precious resources again.

Smoke filled the air of the black city he could never leave. Night consumed the twinkling stars and ate the moon. People were screaming. Sirens were shouting. Gunfire had spilt the air, that sweet sound that made him curl his toes. So much fun…

But maybe, he thought with an unusual frown, maybe not _as_ much fun as before. His number one player was gone. His very best friend, dead and left for the fishes, all because of something as simple as self-sacrifice. That very fact had kept him away for a while. That fact alone had almost made him never want to enter Gotham again. How could he come back to the city of the shadows feeling so empty? Feeling so lost?

Feeling so… incomplete?

But in the end, it had no longer mattered. In the end, he found someone to steer his mind to newer directions. Someone who understood him. Someone who had such a pretty smile.

Someone who knew how to have a good _laugh_.

He smiled as the smoke rose higher, as the picture took form and let everyone know that he was back, and he was happy. The smiley face the smoke became cast its deadly grin over the city, over false order. Over what he would snatch, and make his once more. The soul of Gotham was up in the air ever since certain people had disappeared or died. And he would be the first to jump and catch it.

More explosions. More screaming. He clapped his hands and giggled, and skipped along to the meeting point, glancing back every now and then to look at his art, at that deadly gray smile. He spotted the man in the dark trench coat leaning against a wet alley wall, and lifted a brow. _How_ _fifties_, he thought, and chuckled softly as he approached.

"Nice weather we're having, don't you think?" he asked lazily, and jumped into a rain puddle, smirking at the wet splatter of dirty water now on the man's trousers.

"How did you get the smoke to do that?"

"I got all A's in chemistry." His eyes wandered up the forgettable man, wondering if this was the same guy he'd been negotiating with the whole time. But if he wanted certain allies, he'd had to suck it up and be kind. This man had been the messenger. And he was here to give the final one. "So what did the big boss think of my little performance? Pretty impressive, huh?"

"Quite," the man nodded, pulling out a few papers from the depths of his pockets, and a cell phone. "We enjoyed the show immensely. And while remembering certain rules, like those of scratching backs, we are willing to work with you."

"Oh, goodie," he drawled, and hurriedly snatched the papers and phone to stuff in his homemade attire. "Tell the big boss I'll send a friendly text." He saluted the man, and turned around.

"Not only am I here to tell you we've accepted your offer for partnership, but I'm also here to collect." The man stepped forward, causing him to halt. "You mentioned chemistry before. There is talk that you've been a busy bee in that department. And tonight's show with the smoke confirmed it. I was told to graciously ask you for your various formulas."

"Oh," he muttered, and sighed before giving a few shakes of his head. "You see, that would be a problem. And while your organization and I have decided to do business, that doesn't mean I have to be a good little boy and share my toys."

"It would help your relationship with us if you'd just corporate."

He frowned. "Are you gonna break up with me, then? Because…" He stepped closer to the man, the heels of his shiny shoes clicking along the concrete. "I _really_ don't like that. I'm doing my best to be a nice guy by you people, and you threaten that you'll _leave_ me?" He sniffed at that, and bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing when the man's back hit the wall, leaving him weak. Leaving him all alone.

"No, you misunderstand," the man told him, wishing he could reach into his belt for his gun for safety. Wishing he'd just kept his mouth shut. "I'm just the messenger, after all. I'm just telling you what I was told."

"Just the messenger," he repeated slowly, clicking his tongue and giving another onceover. "You know what they say about the messenger, right?"

The man brought his hands together, ringing them so their new partner wouldn't see them shaking. He wasn't getting paid enough for this, he thought. He'd never wanted to be the one to make the deal. "Yes… They say you don't kill him."

For a moment, he was silent. And then the smile broke out across his cheeks. That very famous smile. The man jumped some when he began to laugh. That very famous laugh. He didn't know whether to be terrified or relieved by it.

"Is that what they say? Well then you are free to go, my friend." He swept his long coat back, and made a big gesture for him to carry on his way.

The man in the trench coat swallowed nervously, and gave a brisk nod. "We'll be in touch."

The messenger took more steps than he would have thought. In fact, he thought he would have successfully gotten away. But after the first few nervous and jittery steps, the anticipated sound of a swing and a loud, wet crunch filled the air, and made him smile once more. He turned around, saw his little buddy lying in a growing dark pool of his own blood, the open gash in the side of his head leaking brains and blood into the city streets.

"Whoops!" he laughed, shrugging his lean shoulder. "Guess I don't care about what _they_ say!"

He heard the very soft, very feminine giggle of the body against the shadows of the ally. As she stepped further into the light, he looked down at her hand that held a bloody rubber chicken.

No one would have expected a brick to be in there, that was for sure.

"Did you see that? I split that guy's head open like a regular Moses." She kicked the man's dead foot, and slung the rubber chicken over her petite shoulder. "Nice coat, though."

He grinned down at the dead man, looked back up into the smoke above. Yes, he thought, this would definitely be fun. He was back. He was ready. And he was _excited_. Gotham didn't need to be reminded of him, because Gotham had never forgotten him. And now, they would have him forever.

He made a show out of stretching and yawning. "Boy, am I bushed." He took a step, crunched his shoe into the ruined head of his dead messenger, and gestured for her to follow. Just like she always would. "Let's go home."

"Whatever you say, puddin'."

He smiled.

Do you know how to cause complete chaos?

_I do_.

* * *

The night sky was clear, full of stars, full of the giant white moon. The air was bitter cool for the desert, the evening chasing away the heat, undoing what the sun had done all day, giving rest to the hot, cooling the sand and sending a thankful breeze. In practically the middle of Indian nowhere, the sky was vast and bright, the sand soft and bearable. A camp was made for shelter upon that bearable sand, and a giant fire started to ward off that cold breeze that could chill to the bone.

In practically the middle of Indian nowhere, freedom had been given, and the lost had been found.

The big fire roared, the light dancing upon the makeshift overhang of an incomplete, half-finished tent. Blankets had been set on the sand for a temporary bed, scattered bags open after various items had been found. The flames gave warmth and light, the blankets comfortable sleep after a long day of hiking. The stars glittered, the moon shone, the breeze traveled and the fire flickered.

In the middle of Indian nowhere, a woman gasped loudly, let her head fall back as she clutched at the skin above her with long, pointed nails.

Feminine moans filled the air. Deep, guttural groans and growls from the one above her shushed her, and yet continued on. The woman, with her reaching limps and curves that beckoned him, shook her head back to rid her sweaty face of the long black curls that were steadily becoming a nuisance because of their length. With pale skin, dark brows, and eyes as black as the sky, she opened her red mouth to give him more of those arousing sounds she knew drove him crazy. The man, almost encompassing her completely with his vast size, took her knees and pushed them up almost to her shoulders as he continued to please them both. The threatening mask around his head hissed loudly, dug into the flesh of her neck, shoulders, and chest as he took and took and took from her.

Bane had once taken Camille Lane away by force. Now, she came to him willingly.

_Please don't make me leave again_.

He found he couldn't turn her away. Found that he couldn't make her leave him again because she was his.

Wearing only her nude colored bra, Camille pulled Bane closer to her, wrapped her arms around him as he furiously drove himself into her body. She growled at him when he pushed her back down, held her knees up for him so he could support his weight with his hands on either side of her. She raked her nails down his back, over his sides, keeping them on his strong hips as he pounded away at her, edging them closer to release after weeks and weeks of being apart.

After she had returned to free him from the pit, Bane and Camille had walked all day in the Indian desert. With his large hand gripping hers, he pulled her closer to a destination he knew, a place they would have to travel to on foot because they had no other means of transportation. And when night had fallen, the weariness of hiking for hours caught them and stopped them so that they could make some kind of shelter with the supplies she'd brought with her. Bane knew he could have had another hour left in him to walk, would have carried her during the extra time if the wound in his side had not been clawing at him in discomfort, and the wheezing sounds of his mask losing medication hadn't stopped him. And after the fire had been created to keep them safe and warm and the shelter built, Camille had taken on the job of taking care of him for a second time.

From long days in the prison that had claimed him again, Bane's skin around his clothing was burned from the sun. He was filthy from weeks trapped in hell, his breathing practically reduced to nothing but a wheeze from the declining medicine inside the mask that kept him alive, and the puncture wound in his side inflamed and infected from poor care. And always wanting to be prepared for the very worst, Camille had brought along with her to India everything she thought she would need to tend to him once she found him. She'd softly washed his burnt skin to clean him, running the soapy rag over the grime and sweat from six weeks trapped in the pit. She'd only wondered briefly about how exactly he'd ended up there again, figured maybe it had something to do with the Nightwing. But remained silent as she helped soothe him.

Camille had pulled his face down into her lap so she could replace the withering canisters inside his mask with new ones, and so she could tend to the angry cut against his ribs. Bane had closed his eyes against her touch, still a little shocked that she was even here in the first place.

He'd made her leave. And here she was.

With his wound cleaned, treated and bandaged, Camille had simply tried to soothe him further as the fire danced behind them by running her hands along his skin. She'd taken off the armored vest he'd been wearing, ran her fingers over the muscles of his body that she knew all too well. Before, when they'd been separated, she couldn't seem to function, couldn't seem to adapt in the world she'd become disconnected from. She'd ruined her chance at a good relationship with a good man, and had quit from the job that had become her purpose in life. With him now, she felt more like herself.

With him now she could finally function.

After a few minutes had gone by of soothing him, she'd scooted away to clean the mess of bloody bandages from his wound, and put away the first aid kit. She tried to ignore Bane's hard stare at her, tried to ignore the evidence of his arousal. She felt that maybe they were too tired to reunite the way they wanted. He should rest instead of looking at her that way. She should prepare for the next day and make sure they had everything they needed instead of feeling a heat stronger than the fire that warmed them.

Bane had suddenly pounced on her and began tearing her clothes from her body in desperation.

Six weeks was too long, he thought as he stared down at Camille with her black eyes, her pouty lips, yanking her shorts down her legs and ripping the flimsy barriers to pieces. Gone was the need to rest and plan for the day ahead. The only thing that mattered was her willing body, his need to have her because it had been too long without her. His mask hissed at her violently as he watched that aggressive lust fill her eyes, as that carnal strength inside her blossomed and manifested.

Now, Camille moaned as she grasped at his pounding hips, as he made her body bounce along the blanket with his strong, hard thrusts. He drove her up again, arousal spurting inside him each time she moaned out his name.

"Don't stop," she whispered and gasped some more, forgetting herself and saying things she would have wanted to remain unsaid. She whimpered as her fingers dug into his hips, and could only feel his body after being without him for so long. "I missed you, I missed you…"

Bane groaned deeply as he pushed to her limit, squeezed his eyes shut as she came around him, emptying him, undoing him. He twitched inside her, felt the warmth. Felt Camille after so long. He buried his face in her hair, and let himself follow her into the sweet release.

* * *

Panting, Camille placed her hand on her sweaty forehead and tried to breathe, tried to calm down from the rush of being with him again. She lifted her head to look at him when she felt him leave her body, pulled one of the straps of her bra back over her shoulders as he stood and walked closer to the fire. Camille brushed some of her hair back, watched the skin of his back flicker against the light of the flames as he calmly stared at them, completely naked and completely back to his normal self. She covered her bare lower half with one of the blankets, sat up and wrapped her arms around her knees.

What would happen now? she thought, as reality finally started to sink in. Now that she had left Gotham, now that she had quit her job and had flown all the way to the other side of the world to rescue a criminal, what would she do? If Bane decided to keep her with him, what would become of her then? And if he didn't, how was she supposed to survive? She'd spent all the money she had to get here and find him, and had no way of getting back to America. And once she went back, what would she do?

So many questions, and not enough clarity. What was her purpose now that she had left her life to save him?

Maybe she shouldn't go back to Gotham. Camille absently remembered the woman she'd seen in a dark alley long ago after Bane had released her the first time. Beaten and raped and robbed. And she'd just walked away from her, because there was nothing she could have done. She could have done something insignificant like call the police and help the woman, but in the end her actions would be pointless. Gotham ate people, destroyed them, tore them apart from the inside out. She hated that place, and knew they deserved everything that had been going on for years. Bane had once told her that the city hated both of them. She found that she believed him, believed it because so much had gone wrong with how she'd been raised, how she'd lived in the society that was very wrong. She looked back to Bane still staring at the fire.

_Her story was his story_.

Camille knew that they were the same. She'd told him that herself. And she'd never felt right about the way she'd been living, never felt that she was where she belonged. But if she and Bane were the same, then maybe she'd been doing it all wrong for all this time. If they were the same, maybe that was exactly how it should be.

_Gotham is wrong_. There was no right. All that mattered was where you wanted to be.

And she knew where that was. Making the decision, she swallowed softly and began to speak.

"After you left Gotham, there was a big investigation," she said to him, knowing he was listening to her with a slow movement of his head. "They tested me, questioned me. Kept track of me. This jerk detective didn't believe a word I said because he was so obsessed with finding you. But I was still labeled as a rape victim, and still had to go through the procedure. They forced this strict schedule on me, made me go to therapy and answer more questions about you. And I had no choice." Camille took a deep breath, tried not to remember how she'd felt during that time of being herded by the ones who were supposed to protect her. "They were still keeping track of me after I left to come here. They just assumed I was this important puzzle piece that would link them straight to you. And certain individuals in the police department know how you're connected to India. And by now, I'm sure they know I came here."

Bane slowly turned around to look at her, still not bothering with any pants because they were the only ones around for miles. He walked closer to her, kneeled down so he could watch her face more carefully. "I can see that anxiety again. Tell me what worries you."

Camille swallowed again, felt oddly foolish now that he was staring right at her. She'd been independent her whole life, had made sure she could still take care of herself even when she'd been married to an uprising painter. And now that she was suddenly so very _de_pendent, she didn't know which words to use exactly. "If I go back, it'll only be worse. Gotham has a bad taste in its mouth because of the last woman who did something like this. I could go to jail. That detective really didn't like me, and would find some way to lock me up. Or they could put me away. If I go back…"

Her voice drowned out, and when she didn't continue, Bane gave her a look and finished her sentence for her. "If you go back… without me?"

Camille held his gaze, then looked away. This is ridiculous, she thought to herself. Suddenly annoyed, she stared at her hands because she'd run out of words. Foolish words, she thought with an inner scowl, and wished he'd move away and stop staring at her.

She wanted to stay with him. But for good this time. Bane concluded that the moment he'd seen her face and the war raging in her eyes on how exactly to ask him. She wanted to stay because she feared what she'd return to because of her actions with him. And as she remained quiet and suddenly reserved, his mind raced.

He remembered telling himself long ago that she could never thrive in his world. The life he led was something she knew nothing about, something maybe she wasn't fully grasping when she wanted to ask him certain things. For a life like his, you had to either be born into it, or severely trained. And in his case it had been both of those conditions. And while Camille had been raised in abuse and violence, she'd only forced herself to escape from her hell and do whatever it took to stay away from it.

But while he knew those things about her, he knew more. He knew she had a temper that could be harnessed and used to her advantage. He knew she had an intelligent mind that could work in his favor. And he knew, deep down inside her, that she had strength. A strength that went beyond what was inside her, a physical strength he'd seen before. Inside her womanly body was a force that could be fueled, and used. That aggression that could be turned into power.

You either had to be born into his world, or severely trained. Bane continued to stare at her, and began to see something else.

"Darling Camille," he started, waited until her eyes met his again. "You would leave that world for mine? You would leave the comforts of society for those of what the world would call a criminal? I won't say you don't know what you are asking me, because I know you do. But to exist in my world, you must be molded into something else. You must learn how to survive when the world is against you." She went to look away again, but Bane took her jaw and held her steady so she would know what she would be in for. What he would mean for her. "You would leave your simple, safe life, the life you tried so hard to build for yourself, for the life of a mercenary?"

She contemplated as she looked into his green eyes. Time before him had been wrong, and time while they'd been separated had no longer worked for her. She knew her answer, because there was no other option. "I will," she murmured, and leaned a little bit closer to him. "If you ask me to."

Bane could have smiled, could have been impressed that she had just switched the whole decision onto him. But the only thing he did feel was that he had misjudged. Maybe she really _didn't_ know what she was asking of him. Maybe he had to clarify a little more. "You must understand completely, Camille. I will return to Gotham, but not soon. And during that time you will have to be broken down and built back up to what I would need you to be. And then there are… other conditions you would have to understand."

Feeling like she was going to be given a lecture, Camille leaned back to rest on her elbows. "Tell me."

"I run quite a detail oriented operation. My men work for me, and me alone. My woman…" he continued, refusing to allow himself to fall back into old ways when it concerned this subject. "Will be _my _woman."

Camille lifted a brow at him. She remembered how she had tried to be with another man, and that it had only caused her grief because she'd been craving for someone else the whole time. But then the face of Talia entered her mind, and suddenly she knew why he was telling her this in the first place. "That only works if it goes both ways."

He tilted his head some at her. "You assume I sleep with multiple women?"

"All I know is that I won't live the life Talia did." Speaking of her around him used to be like walking on eggshells. But Camille would refuse to allow a ghost to steer her around. She'd already told him once that she wasn't his past lover. The old agreement he'd had with Talia no longer mattered, the agreement of being spiritually connected, but not physically. Bane had been faithful to Talia in his heart, but his body had been a different story. The same had gone for his dead love. Now, she knew Bane wanted to make sure that there wouldn't be a repeat of that kind of relationship. "What goes for you goes for me too."

"Understandable," he muttered, and found that he could accept it. "Another thing you must understand is the physical aspect of this life. You cannot survive how you are now. I would need you to become something greater. You will wish for death during the training that would be necessary. With this life, you will be bound to me completely. You will be hunted, attacked, and at times targeted by those right within reach. You will have to know how to take a life. And be able to do just that when the time comes. The dogs will be after you," he murmured, trying to get through to her because he oddly felt like he needed to. "For the rest of your life, you will be unsafe and always on guard. Forever, Camille."

She took everything in, each and every sentence, each and every word. But she found that it hardly mattered. And she could only come back to the same decision. No other option for her. Looking at him now, she knew there never would be. "If you ask me," she repeated in a whisper.

Suddenly, he felt somewhat dizzy. Suddenly he realized that what he was asking of her, he'd never had with anyone else. So many conditions, and yet she was willing to meet them all. Only time would tell in the end, he knew. But he knew Camille, and that she _would_ meet every one of those conditions because she didn't have any other choice. It would be hard. It would be tiring for both of them, because he didn't trust anyone else to teach her except for himself. She could fail miserably. She could give up. She could die.

_I missed you, I missed you._

Bane looked at her again, lying back on her elbows, staring at him with those pretty dark eyes. The corners of her mouth lifted, and then she was smiling at him. Smiling at him in that way she had when they'd separated. She'd come back to free him. After he'd sent her away so many times, she was always coming back when he needed her. And, Bane discovered, he did need her.

Two lost souls whose miserable beginnings had forged them into what appeared to be polar opposites. Their pull to each other narrowed the distance, then had all but eradicated it. She'd saved him. The night he came to terms with what he had really been to Talia, the night his sanity had hung in Camille's ferocious and unbreakable grip. As impossible as it should have been, she was his answer. He was hers.

_I missed you_.

"Will you stay with me?" he asked her slowly.

That smile stayed in place, her lips continuing to curve in the light of the fire. It may have been the world's most odd and unacceptable proposal, but she found that it suited her. It suited her just fine because there was no other option. Not since the day she had signed her name on the dotted line to take his case back when he'd been admitted in the asylum.

"Where else would I go?"

Ignoring her, Bane reached out and took the blanket that covered her lap. Slowly, he slid it away and exposed her. "Say yes."

Camille reached for him, held his shoulders as he flipped them around and made her straddle him. She had left everything she knew for him. She was giving up her safe life for a man in a mask. She pulled her bra off her chest, sighed and leaned down a little as he slipped his hand into her scalp and grasped her curls. "Yes," she whispered.

In the middle of Indian nowhere, she gave herself completely to him. No other option.

Not anymore.

**TBC**

**A/N: I can't tell you how much I missed Bane, Camille, and my wonderful readers. But now I'm back with the sequel, and ready to write for you again. I hope you all stay with me for **_**Amaranthine.**_** I have big things planned because I love you all so very much. Also, I revamped my profile. Lots of fun stuff there for the fans of **_**Mercenary**_**. Review for me, my loves. And welcome back!**


	2. Awake and Alive

_**Amaranthine**_

**Chapter 2**

**Awake and Alive**

"_In the dark, I can feel you in my sleep. In your arms I feel you breathe into me. Forever hold this heart that I will give to you. Forever I will live for you." – Skillet _

The sun was steadily rising in the sky, giving the horizon color that could only be seen in the early hours of morning. And before it could rise to its high point, before the rays would make them squint and cringe from its heat and light, Bane gently shook Camille awake, turning her onto her back from her position sprawled out on the blankets that had been their bed for the night on the desert sand. Clutching one of the blankets to her bare chest and staring at him with eyes still full of sleep and her black hair standing on end, Camille wished she could tell him to go away so that she could fall back into slumber for just a few minutes more.

"It would be best if we walk the remaining miles before the sun gets too hot. And I need to reach the point of destination before a certain hour."

"It's so early. You kept me up all night."

"If you did not complain last night then your words to me now mean nothing." Already dressed back in his still dirty armored vest, cargo pants and boots because he had nothing else to wear, Bane ignored her eye roll and handed her the clothes he could find. "Come now, we have a long walk."

Camille slipped on her bra, jean shorts and black tank top. Her panties had been ripped last night so she would have to do without. "Where are we going?"

"I have a past associate who lives near here. I want to reach him before he leaves for the day. He will generously provide us with a home."

She lifted a brow. "Does he know that?"

"Of course not."

It took them a few minutes to pack everything Camille had brought. But once it was done, they were immediately on their way.

After the first couple of hours of once again hiking in the desert, the first annoying waves of exhaustion began to creep up on her. Never in her life had she travelled on foot over such rough terrains. But that hadn't been the problem, she mused as she trekked on a few feet behind Bane. The problem was that she had barely gotten any sleep the night before, and hadn't been able to rest very much after the first long day of travel. And she hadn't helped the problem any, she told herself. She was finally back where she belonged, finally back with the only person that could keep her grounded in reality. And because it had been so long since being with him, the urges of reuniting physically had been too strong to ignore.

It had been well into the night before both of them had lessoned those urges.

Camille wished for coffee. She wished for shade and a bed. But still she walked on. Still she continued in the heat of the desert because this was now her new life.

* * *

She heard a few screams and pleas. She heard a few pieces of furniture being tossed, glass being broken, voices being raised. Waiting outside in the sun and oddly thinking nothing of the commotion from inside the house, Camille stood behind an old, broken down truck from long ago and stared at her feet as she waited for Bane.

It had taken them three hours to reach the house he'd mentioned. Built and paid for on a nice piece of well-kept land in a secluded part of India, the one-story modern structure shined in the sun. With its sharp angles and giant clean windows, the house was owned by a local business tycoon's son, who Bane had worked with in the past. When she'd asked what exactly he'd been hired for, Bane had told her that long ago, he and his men had been paid handsomely to protect the son from ferocious competitors out for blood. That protection had involved eliminating each and every one of those competitors one by one. And unfortunately for the son, Bane had once saved his life. For years he had owed him something.

That something, Bane had told her, would be his fancy home for the both of them.

Before he'd gone in to make his grand entrance, Bane told her to stand behind the old truck sitting in the side yard so that neither the son nor any of his various house staff would see her. He didn't want to make her any kind of leverage over him, and knew it would be best if the son and his family assumed he would be staying here alone.

More screams from inside. The maids had long ago run out of the house as soon as Bane had entered. It had been roughly twenty minutes of waiting, twenty minutes of hearing whatever persuasion Bane had had to use on his past associate. But finally Camille heard the front door of the big house slam open, and peeked over the truck to see what was now going on.

A young Indian man, dressed impeccably and groomed to perfection from money and other vanities, clutched what she knew was a broken arm and ran out of his home. Desperate and pain-filled tears had run from his eyes and down to his collared shirt, his feet scrambling to get away from more terrible threats of other injuries if he didn't give up his home to the mercenary he'd hired so long ago. A car bolted from the distance, screeched to a halt in front of the man and its door hurriedly opening so that he could climb in before zooming off again.

Bane had been generous enough to allow him to call for a ride.

Once the car was gone, Camille walked up to the house, sand blowing around her feet and further dirtying her boots. It was a lovely home, she decided, walking through the door and into the foyer. Not too tall in structure, but certainly grand enough to give off the impression of wealth and upkeep. Everything inside was up to date and modern, the counters high and shining, the beds soft and fluffy. Camille glanced around at all the kitchen appliances, and whispered a soft _thank you_ when she spotted the coffee maker. The natural earth tones of the decorating gave off a calming vibe, meshing well with the scenery of the Indian sand outside its vast windows. She looked out into the back as she wandered around her new home. A very large deck expanded well passed the house, its wooden floor sleek and polished to perfection for the sandy area. Pleased, she saw that the deck had a covered roof, an addition that would protect both her and Bane from the sun when they wanted to be outside.

Neither of them had a particular taste for the sun.

She heard Bane's voice in a different room, one that she found was the office, talking to someone on the phone in Arabic. She assumed he'd gotten in touch with some of his men, and left him to it so she could bring in the packs from outside. She sat at the counter of the shiny kitchen located right in the middle of the house once she was done, and watched him as he approached her.

"Those people could come back," she said, speaking of the son and other people he could hire to get rid of them. "How do you know they won't?"

"The family knows of what I do. And what I would do to them if they tried to threaten me to leave. This house belongs to me until I decide to return to Gotham."

"But wouldn't they just call the police? You can't just take someone's home from them."

Bane smiled underneath his mask and shook his head at her. "What have I gotten into with you? In this part of India, Camille, the law is what those powerful enough make it to be. As a matter of fact, the closest town to us here is one of the most dangerous in the country. Rapists and murderers run rampant. And never, for as long as we are here, are you to answer the door unless it is me."

Understanding, she nodded. "How long are we going to be here?"

"I've had little time to think, but I would assume at least a year."

She drew her brows together, hopped off the stool she'd been sitting on and followed him as he began searching the house. "A year? Isn't that too long to keep someone out of their house?"

"Like I told you, this place is mine for as long as I need it." Bane walked into what she guessed was the master bedroom, peeling off his vest and riffling through the drawers. Camille looked around, saw a huge, low bed covered in a white goose feathered comforter and plenty of matching pillows. Not much other furniture was taking up space save for a few dressers and a vanity, the door to the master bathroom decorated in bright royal blue tile wide open. "And a year is what I will need to prepare you for my world," he continued, entering the walk-in closet next and continuing his search. "It will take many more for you to grasp everything completely, but a year will be a good starting point. And I will be able to continue to work here." He came back out holding a stored rifle, checking the clip for any ammo before clicking it back into place.

Already exposed enough to his world, the scene seemed normal. "But I thought you were going back to Gotham."

"In my line of work, it can be done anywhere in the world. Gotham City can wait for now. Barsad should arrive by next week. You will stay here while I go into town for supplies."

After he pulled on a dark blue shirt he'd found in one of the drawers, Camille once again followed at his heels. "Can't I go with you? I need stuff too."

"I will get it for you. During our time here, you are not to leave this house."

Camille stopped, watched him walk off for a few moments before trotting to catch back up to him. "I can't leave? I can't go with you?"

"No."

"Why? This guy has a car here. I can wait in it."

Bane stopped and turned back to her, setting the rifle in a place that could be easily accessible. "Apparently you have already forgotten what I've told you. We are located in one of the most dangerous areas of India. It will be exhausting to try and keep you safe if you were to ever go into town. The world outside this house and its land are off limits to you from now on." He watched as her eyes heated, watched as those aggressive flames began to flicker. He thought of the way she had stood up to him in the past. He thought of the way she had aided in letting prisoned men fall back into hell after she'd come back for him. And for a brief moment, he very much hoped that she wouldn't be difficult to train because of that heat. "To disobey me could result in death for you. And the choice you made last night has bound you to me forever." Bane reached out, placed his hand on top of her curly head. "It will benefit you greatly if you get inside your head now that I make the rules. I will be the one to train you and to lead you after we leave here. I will be the one to keep you safe."

Maybe she should have warmed at the thought. But the only thing Camille could think of was of the other woman he'd tried so hard to protect. She'd told him last night that she would never live the life Talia had when it came to him. She didn't want Bane to think he had to protect her the same way he once had for the little girl who had stolen his life long ago. But because she understood the cost, she simply nodded and agreed with him. But it was an issue that would definitely be revisited later.

Bane rubbed her hair back, grabbed some keys off a nearby wall rack, and headed for the garage.

"That shirt doesn't fit you," she called out to him.

Bane stopped, glanced behind at her. "I know," he answered, and flexed his arm, causing the fabric of the sleeve to rip apart.

Camille smiled softly as he left, and decided to explore the home that would be hers for the next year.

* * *

Bane returned a few hours later. He'd told her that, during the year they would be there, some of his few chosen men would be in and out for the work that would need to be done. Since their mission in Gotham City had failed, and there had been no need to set anything else up after it because they were supposed to all have died in the fire, many other organizations wanted to work with the mercenaries, unknowingly hiring the League of Shadows under new leadership. Camille had asked him why he didn't want to take the next year off, but he had simply answered her by telling her his work was never truly done. Put off at times, but never done.

The next morning, Camille was woken up by the piercing sound of shattering glass. She quickly sat up in the fluffy white bed, had a brief moment of panic as she glanced around the unfamiliar room. She looked down at the spot next to her, found it empty, and assumed that Bane was the cause of all the noise. She dressed quickly in a baggy sweater over her panties, and rushed out further into the house to find the commotion. The loud screams of glass breaking made her jump slightly, made her follow the sound until she found Bane outside in the side yard. In his hands was a mirror. A few feet away was a large pile of broken bits of shattered glass. He heaved the mirror, sent it crashing and into a hundred pieces.

The pile was nothing but destroyed mirror. Her eyes widened.

"What the _hell_ are you doing?"

Already dressed for the day, Bane kicked at a large shard and sent it with the rest of the pile. "I am getting rid of every mirror in the house. There is nothing left. It is all gone."

Staring at the pile, Camille thought of her hair. She thought of her face, she thought of her lipstick. Her heart sank. "Why would you do that? I'm a _woman_! An_ Italian_ woman, for God's sake. How am I supposed to get ready?"

"It is part of your training."

"What, you're not allowed to be groomed? Why would you do that?" she repeated, feeling oddly betrayed.

"I told you the night before that I would break you down first. You have no more use for womanly vanities." Bane took her arm, pulled her back inside as she continued to look back at the pile of broken mirror. "I have created a schedule for you. First, I will make your body strong. The ways of combat and weaponry are meaningless without physical muscle. I have forbidden you to see any of your progress until I have decided that I am happy with the results. As your leader, you will have to trust me before anyone else. You will learn that trust by accepting completely that I will make you strong, even while you cannot see the change."

Before he could pull her any further, Camille yanked her arm free. "I need my lipstick."

Remembering her obsession while she'd been working for him before, Bane glanced down at her bare mouth. He could recall a time when she'd been too depressed to paint her lips, and how that fact had angered him beyond belief, only because she was letting something as useless as inner suffering for a man who would never love her again change her completely. And because he knew her, knew that certain ways about her could never be changed, he gave her a solution. "You will be able to paint your mouth using the toaster for its reflection. Other than that, you will not see your body until it is ready."

Then he told her that training was to begin in twenty minutes.

Camille quickly showered and dressed in shorts and a t-shirt. And because she had no choice because every single mirror in the house was lying in a pile of broken shards, she painted her lips pink in the toaster. Bane told her to meet him on the deck after she was done. Heading there now, she quickly downed her cup of coffee. She half expected Bane to scold her for drinking something he considered vile for the system. But the words that escaped through his hissing mask surprised her.

"Remove your clothing."

She simply stared at him, then slowly lifted a brow. "Why?"

He glanced at her clothes, considered them inadequate. "You will wear the clothes I've bought for you for your training. They will be best to sculpt your body the way I want it."

"You're dressing me now after you just destroyed all my mirrors? What the hell am I going to look like after this year?"

"You will look better. Strip."

Her new life, Camille thought as she peeled off the shorts and t-shirt, was now very odd. But it was what she'd chosen. It was the only thing she had now. The feelings of being without him, the feelings of being lost and not really knowing exactly why, greeted her again very briefly. Camille knew she couldn't go back to that. Knew that life outside this very house was black and lifeless.

_No other option. _

Bane pulled her bra off himself when she'd neglected to remove it. Reaching into a nearby box, he pulled out what appeared to be black stretchy material of some sort. He then handed her a pair of black, high-waist leggings. After she slipped them on, the waistband reaching up past her navel and tightening around her skin, he pulled the other black material over her head. Camille was then jerked left and right as he forcibly maneuvered what she discovered to be tight bindings over her breasts and around her ribs. It was sleeveless, leaving a thin strip of the skin of her stomach visible below the bindings, holding her breasts in and squeezing against her chest.

"It's tight."

"It is necessary. This will keep everything in place and out of the way. It will also teach you discipline."

Camille glanced down at his back brace. She wondered what other discipline she would be in store for during the year Bane had decided to sculpt her.

And as the days went on, she realized that discipline was an understatement.

She wondered what men and women went through during their time in the American military boot camp. She then wondered, if the work was the same, why any other country dared to threaten them. But as her body was worked, as Bane trained her practically all day long in the Indian heat, Camille was convinced that her own version of boot camp was much worse.

Every morning he woke her up early, made her put on her various bindings, and simply tortured her. Every single day she ran countless miles, lifted a series of weights, and was stretched what she thought was beyond her capacity. She was only allowed to eat grilled chicken and rice, with certain fruits and vegetables as snacks in between, and was only permitted one cup of coffee in the morning. Every other drink was to be water, and water only. The first week of her training was terribly rough. But soon, she knew the schedule by heart, and was craftily sneaking at least another cup of coffee when Bane needed to eat, or when he had to take a phone call.

Running, jumping, crunches, stretches, squats, lunges, and lifting. It was so much to take in for so many hours a day, in such tight bindings, in such heat. Bane watched on for every one of those hours, his arms crossed and his eyes searching for any wrong dip in her body, for any error at all in the movements he would teach her. At times, he would allow her a very quick break. But when she would insist on taking too many, he had a habit of cutting out the breaks completely. And just as Bane feared, after the first week, her snippy mouth began to run.

"This _stupid_ thing is crushing me!" Camille pulled at the binding around her chest, trying to hold it out so she could take a deep breath without its constriction. "Why do I have to wear it? A sports bra works just as well, you know."

Bane ignored her, just as he always did. "I want to see fifteen push-ups, followed by sixty double crunches."

Camille sighed dramatically, felt like actually stomping her foot along the hot deck. "Please just loosen this a bit. You only need to cut a few threads. I promise I'll work out for an extra hour tonight. Whatever you want."

"The bindings do not come off. I will let you finish an hour early today if I never hear another plea to remove them. Now do as you are told."

Bane walked off, left her to do the exercises he demanded of her. Camille bared her nails at his back, wished she could ring his neck. But still dropped to do the push-ups.

* * *

Another task she had to take on was house cleaning. Bane had never ordered her to do this, but because she didn't know how he was in that department, she took the job on herself. She would refuse to live in filth, and once a week she went about making sure every nook and cranny gleamed. Bane gave her a couple hours in the morning of her chosen day before training would resume. And just as she finished loading the dishwasher, Camille rose and shrieked a little when a man who was not Bane walked into her clean kitchen.

Her nerves calmed when she discovered that it was Barsad, Bane's right-hand man and second in command to their circle. During her time with Bane as a prisoner, Camille had never had any kind of conversation with Barsad. The only time either one of them spoke to each other was when Bane had needed her for something. And going by the almost stunned expression on his face, she wondered if he even remembered who she was.

"Hi," she said softly, feeling a little awkward. She'd always felt awkward around Bane's men after their relationship had changed, after she was suddenly spending her last few nights with him in his room back in Gotham. The night she had returned to him was the night they had coupled because they both wanted it, wanted to squash the frustration that had been annoying them both. And they hadn't been very quiet about it. "Are you looking for Bane?"

Barsad spent a few moments more staring at the woman who had always been around before, back during their operations in Gotham City. It had been puzzling to witness how things had changed back then. First she had been nothing but a captive, only there to see to his leader's medical needs. Then she had been set free, only to return and become something else entirely. After she had left the second time, Barsad had completely forgotten about her. But to see her now, here in India, here in the very home where Bane would be staying for a while, gave him odd emotions.

The only thing that could run through his head was the face of a different woman, the woman who had controlled Bane with her delicate, gripping hands.

After Talia al Ghul had died, Barsad had relished in the fact that Bane would now be the only one to lead them from that point out. He had always secretly hated the other woman, had always wanted Bane to rise up and lead them the way he did when she hadn't been around and worming her way into their plans and various jobs. And after she had convinced Bane to go to Gotham, after the plan that would result in every one of their deaths had been decided, Barsad longed for the day when she would rot in Hell. But ever loyal to his leader, he'd gone along with it. Ever loyal, he had stood aside, and let that woman control them.

Now a different woman was here. The same woman who used to be nothing but a prisoner.

Apparently she was something else now. And Barsad would be damned if he would die for another one of Bane's women.

Camille watched him walk away from her without a word, trying to ignore the sour look he'd sent her way. She decided to blow it off, not really caring if any of Bane's men communicated with her or not, and went back to cleaning.

But it gave her an uneasy feeling when she remembered the look on Barsad's face.

* * *

The first week of training was over, and Camille was lying in bed, snuggled under the big white comforter in her underwear as the night sky outside twinkled with its stars and brightened with its moon through the floor-to-ceiling sliding glass doors in the master bedroom.

She sighed as she snuggled further into the goose feathers, all freshly clean from the long day's sweat and dirt from exercising. This was her favorite part of the day, she thought, relaxing even further when she felt a large, familiar hand work its way into her black curls. The part where she could just lie here, clean and so wonderfully done with any hard work out she would have to do. The part of the day when she didn't have to wear the bindings. The part of the day when Bane's touches weren't ones of force and discipline.

It had been a week, and during that time they hadn't had a chance to talk the way they used to. All day long would be devoted to training, and usually as soon as her head hit the pillow, Camille was out for the night until he would wake her to do it all over again. But by the feeling of his hand in her hair, Camille knew that Bane was aware that she was still awake. And she found that she didn't want to go to sleep just yet. She found that she wanted to just rest here, knowing that he was right next to her.

It was the only time she could truly relax.

She was facing away from him, resting more on her stomach as his fingers brushed down the dark curly locks of her hair. And the only way Bane knew that she was still awake was by the simple fact that she was lying completely motionless. Usually when she slept, she was all over the bed, pulling at him, sliding in every direction. Bane considered it a nuisance, but dealt with it because there was no way to get her to stop, and sleep at the same time. And her hair was getting was too long, he mused, trailing down the curls until they ended practically at her bottom. He would have to cut her hair soon. He would have to do so much with her.

_Why is she still here?_

"I have to ask you something," Bane murmured, repeating the process of running his hand down her hair from scalp to ends.

She kept her eyes closed, and answered sleepily. "Ask me what?"

Bane rubbed his lips together underneath his mask, concentrated on the movement of his hand. He had to ask her because he wanted an answer. He had to ask her and know why, so he could put it to rest. He didn't like his curiosity, but he couldn't get rid of it. Softly, he continued. "Why did you come back for me?"

Camille slowly opened her eyes, stared out into nothing as she was taken slightly aback by his words. Neither of them particularly liked talking about issues like this. They tried to avoid it when they could. But she knew why he needed to know. Just as she would want the answer if the question had been hers. She pulled her limbs out from underneath the comforter, turned to her other side so she could watch his face in the evening light. The man in the mask who she had come back for. "Does it surprise you?"

She saw something flicker in his eyes, and instantly knew the reason for the question. Her training as a licensed psychiatrist made the emotion easy to deduce. And almost like everything else that involved him, it had to do with Talia al Ghul. When he'd been sentenced to the pit the first time, his love had not returned for him, but in fact, had left him to die for her at the hands of a hundred men. With the spirit of vengeance consuming his heart, her father had been the one to set him free instead. And after he'd been trapped within his past hell again, Camille coming back for him seemed to be confusing for him. Through all the love he'd had for Talia, she had left him to die there. And Camille…

It did surprise him. It surprised him so much that it had been gnawing at him for a week. Ever since he saw her standing at the edge of hell, waiting for him.

"After the police were done with me, I tried to go back to work." Camille didn't know if she could soothe his thoughts. She didn't know if she would tell him the right thing. But she knew he needed something. And maybe she did too. "They wouldn't let me return to the asylum for the longest time. They thought I was still too emotionally unstable, thought I needed more time to rest and heal from my trauma." She rolled her eyes at that, made him smirk at her annoyance. "Everything and everyone was driving me insane. I wanted to be left alone. But… being alone was becoming even worse. And… I…"

And I couldn't stop thinking about you. I couldn't stop wanting you. _I can't seem to live without you anymore…_

Camille swallowed, looked away from Bane's staring eyes. Too damaged to say those words. Too crippled for something that had almost killed both of them in the past.

"And I needed a distraction. I needed a man to distract me." She looked back into his green eyes then, saw him lift his brow at her.

"You were with another man?"

"If you're not going to make this easy then I don't want to talk to you."

"Tell me."

Camille sucked in a slow breath through her nose, wished that she had never began her little story in the first place. The truth would have angered anyone else. The truth would have made someone think they weren't quite right in the head. For a brief moment, she wished that the truth wasn't the truth. She wished she could be a different person, and not know certain things about herself. And fluttering in her chest now was something she couldn't completely decipher. Something almost like dread and contentment all rolled into one.

"You ruined me," she whispered.

His hand stopped along her hair, stayed there as he looked into her black eyes. Maybe he should have felt smug. Maybe he should have felt superior to whatever insignificant little man she'd tried to replace him with, just as he'd replaced her ex-husband's hands on her body so long ago. But maybe, after everything, Camille wasn't very happy about the fact. And Bane suddenly didn't know what to think. His doctor had lived such a precise life before, had gone to great lengths to make sure nothing would sully it. And now…

"I didn't ruin you," he said to her softly, refusing to allow her to fall back into old ways and think only of what was considered right and wrong. "I simply made you see clearly."

Camille shook her head, dismissing the idea that she was rethinking things, or only meaning that he had ruined her for life in general. She still believed that there was no right or wrong, still believed that life was too short and too unforgiving to ever be truly happy if you thought otherwise. And he was missing the point, she thought. Suddenly, she wanted him to understand. "The man… His name was Richard. And he was so nice. The perfect gentleman. I tried… but I couldn't."

Bane looked at her for a few moments, then resumed running his hand down her hair. "You didn't?"

She shook her head. "I can't… It almost happened, but I stopped it."

Not again, he thought, remembering how things had been before, with Talia. The only hands that would touch her now would be his own. He wouldn't go through that again, wouldn't allow that kind of dysfunction because it had almost been his undoing. Possessively, Bane gripped the curls at the back of her scalp. Not again. Not like before.

"Bane, stop." Camille reached back, pulled his hand from her hair. He went to reach for her again, his hands meaning to grab instead of to soothe. But she placed her palm on his cheek, over the straps of his mask because it was now just part of his face to her, and spoke seriously, stared deeply. Soothed him instead. "Listen to me. You want to know why I came back for you? I didn't want to leave you. I thought, at the time, that it was what needed to happen. But I was wrong. I couldn't go back into that hole," she told him, moving her hand onto his neck and setting her forehead onto his so that he would know the truth. "You're my rope," she whispered. "You pulled me out of the hole. I came back to do the same for you. I couldn't leave you to die, like she did. I need you."

How could someone process the words when the other woman had left him time and time again? How could he look at Camille now, and know her words to be true? But Camille had never lied to him, he told himself. Camille was the one who came back. Camille was the one who had brought the rope to pull him out of hell. Bane stared into her eyes, tried to find a trace of anything that would remind him of Talia, and couldn't seem to find it. And maybe, he thought hopefully, he never would.

"How could I leave you?" she whispered to him, reaching down to feel his chest, reaching down to feel the beat in his heart. "I can never leave you."

The light had turned them away. Now, they wouldn't be alone in the dark.

Bane turned her onto her back, peeled off her underwear until she was completely bare beneath him. He knew she was tired, but he had to have her. He knew she was sore, but he needed to feel her heat. No one else could understand. No one else, except someone who had been there before.

_The same_.

Camille smiled up at him sleepily, wrapped her legs around his waist even though they felt like they weighed a million pounds because of her sore muscles. "Are we going to call this more exercise?"

"Yes," he said, knowing she was teasing him, knowing that he was completely serious. "You will have excellent endurance."

The light was too bright. The dark was much better. The dark was warm and safe.

**TBC**

**A/N: I'm going to simultaneously ease a few minds, and maybe worry a couple others. First, this whole story will not only consist of Camille's training, and how she magically is the best mercenary ever afterwards. As we all know, Camille is gifted, but she is also flawed. Camille is us. Secondly, someone mentioned how they were really happy that I didn't kill off any main characters in the first story. I'm letting you know now that that might not be the case for **_**Amaranthine.**_** I write dark fiction. So please, just continue to trust me, my loves. And you all blow my mind. Thank you so much for the great number of reviews for only one chapter. Thank you so much for everything. Kisses to you. **


	3. The World Is Not Enough

_**Amaranthine**_

**Chapter 3**

**The World Is Not Enough**

"_People like us know how to survive. There's no point in living if you can't feel the life. We know when to kiss, and we know when to kill. If we can't have it all then nobody will." – Garbage _

Hot days turned into hot weeks. Long weeks turned into long months. Spring had arrived in India, and the work of the League of Shadows never stopped. Now with a new leader, they continued the work started centuries ago. Bane's men had arrived, were in and out of the house for discussion with their leader, Bane even going with them for two or three days at the most when the mission called for it. It was a job that was never done. It was a job that hadn't given its best men up to the fire after all. A job that took time, planning, efficiency.

And still training went on because Bane demanded it of her.

Camille worked every single day, save for the three days out of every month that Bane had given her to rest during a certain annoying monthly happening. From morning until evening, he trained her, exercised her, showed her the ways of his world because she had suddenly become so very much a part of it.

After her body began adjusting to the rigorous exercise he put her through each day, Bane moved her up to other areas, eventually developing an even tighter, stricter schedule on her. Two days in the week for nothing but exercise, three days for the combat training he was slowly introducing her to along with one day devoted to weapons. The last day of the week was a combination of everything for the first half, and the last half consisting of lectures Bane would give her about survival, weapons, and the tactical ways of the work he'd been taught long ago under Ra's al Ghul. Bane found that Camille was an adequate student, knowing she already would be before he even began while remembering that she still had the title of Doctor before her name. As a psychiatrist, Camille had a useful quality of remembering and fully grasping what he would teach her, and also able to put her own psychological spin on things. So far Bane had been training her for three months. And, he thought, as Camille sat at the wood table near the kitchen waiting for him to speak, it was time to trust her with certain things. Things that would enlighten her, things that may confuse her.

But he wanted to hear her opinion. He wanted to know her thoughts when he would tell her the truth about Gotham City, and who had been protecting her from people like him.

Bane paced back and forth slowly as Camille watched him, cracking his knuckles as he kept her waiting. Wearing his old clothes that had been brought all the way from Gotham to his home with Camille in India, he paced comfortably, glancing at her face every now and then. It would be an interesting conversation, he decided.

"Did you ever wonder," he started, continuing to pace as she sat at the table, "who the Batman really was?"

Camille blinked up at him, her previous grin from finally being out of her bindings slowly falling away in confusion. And as she put two and two together, she realized that Bane knew. Bane knew the answer to the ultimate question for those who were citizens in a corrupt and dangerous city. "Sure I did," she answered. "It was a big topic of discussion for a while in the asylum. Everyone always wondered."

"And did you ever have any predictions?"

She crossed her legs covered in baggy sweatpants, and remembered back to a time before the Batman had been dead, before he had sacrificed everything for a city that had never cared for him. "To be honest, the Batman was every psychiatrist's dream patient. Even mine. And while I never had any solid guesses as to who exactly he could've been, I did generate a few aspects of him that he would need in order to do what he did."

It had been a long time since he'd seen the psychiatrist in her emerge from her eyes. Bane glanced back at her, and saw the woman who he'd had to sit in front of multiple times a week as she tried to coax words out of him for rehabilitation. Dr. Lane, he decided, was right here now, curious and ready for answers. "Really? Give me a professional report, Doctor."

Seeing the challenge, Camille gave him a quick look, then sat up straighter as she prepared to do just that. "First and foremost the Batman is a loner. I can't see the image of a big, happy family waiting for him at home as he took on mobsters and criminals like the Joker and Carmine Falconi. Going off of his sacrifice alone, he would never put them in that kind of danger. But to do what he did, to even make that kind of sacrifice to begin with, there had to have been some kind of love somewhere, whether it was from long ago or some time right before he put on the cape. Something that changed him, something that made him the loner. My guess had always been a tragic death or abandonment that broke his heart. And now, because he is the Batman, because he has experienced that kind of pain, relationships with others become nonexistent. The Batman, I'd assumed, is also very wealthy."

Camille picked up the ends of her curls, absently twirled them through her fingers as she went over everything in her mind. "He'd have to be, to have all those fancy, high-tech things. I never decided if he was self-made or was simply born into money. It didn't seem to matter all that much when I thought about it. The Batman…" she said distantly, remembering all the news, all the papers that had mentioned him. "The Batman must have been very psychologically disturbed. His good qualities were qualities that saved many lives, including my own after you came to the city. But deep down was someone who needed to prove something, someone who could ignore all the hate and put his life on the line for people who despised him. Someone who's pain and heartbreak manifested into something dark, and caused him to make choices based on the needs of the unforgiving. Something to prove and nothing to gain."

Bane stared at her, and wondered what would have happened during their sessions if he had not kidnapped her so long ago. He'd always known how smart she was, had seen it firsthand when she'd sat across from him for session. Had she thought more into him than he'd realized? Would Camille, if she'd been given the time, have been able to give such a quick report on him as well? Bane gave a quick nod, and decided that she hadn't lost her touch. "Impressive, Dr. Lane. Although I feel a little wounded to know that I was not your dream patient."

"You became a pain in the neck," she muttered, then sobered her face as he began to pace yet again. "You know who he was?"

"I do," he answered, and watched the sky through the wide, tall windows of their home as the sun set and the moon rose. "The Batman was Bruce Wayne."

He noticed that she grew quiet, turned back around to see her skeptical face, that casual lift of one dark brow that told him maybe she didn't believe him. And when she spoke, her voice was still laced with confusion. "Bruce Wayne. But Bruce Wayne was a jerk."

"I can assure you that it was all an act. Everything was his own. The vehicles, the small machinery, the fancy outfit. And the façade of an uncaring, adulterous, immature heir was simply that. Underneath that lie was your Dark Knight."

But Camille ignored him. "Bruce Wayne," she murmured, staring off into the distance as her mind raced, as she remembered everything about the Batman, and everything about the man he really was. Bruce Wayne, the heir to the throne that was Wayne Enterprises, the famous son of Gotham City. And just as Bane was about to snap her out of her thoughts, she surprised him when a giant smile bloomed over her pink mouth. She stood quickly, reached up and grasped his biceps.

"Bruce Wayne," she repeated to him, almost as if telling him the news for the first time. "The Batman was Bruce Wayne. Do you know what this means? It means I was right." She smiled up at him, her teeth shining, her eyes sparkling with personal approval. "I was _right_. Bruce Wayne was wealthy, and the death of his parents when he was a boy is what started the whole thing for him. The flings and the parties _were_ all a lie, just to hide the fact that he didn't really have any personal friends, except maybe that old man. I was right." She giggled and punched Bane in the arm in glee. "If only he hadn't killed himself. He really is the dream patient. I have about ten good questions already up here that would be revolutionary to his case."

"While your self-gratification is adorable, I'm afraid I can see your head growing rather large."

Camille looked back up at him, and gave him that half smile she used on him when she tried to get out of certain exercises. He'd never known her to give herself a pat on the back, had always seen her as extremely humble and accepting. But to see her this way now would be a trigger to boost the confidence that had taken a terrible plummet for years. Bane told her to sit back down, and decided to tell her the rest.

She stared up at him as he told her everything, Bruce Wayne's time in the League of Shadows, how he'd been Ra's al Ghul's favorite student. And then he went further into the future, and told her, unbeknownst to Gotham City, that the Batman was still alive. He told her about Selina Kyle, he told her that they were now living their lives as the dead and forgotten. And then he told her how he'd ended up back in the pit just a few months earlier. Before Camille had come to save him.

"He's alive," she repeated, going through everything in her mind.

"The one they call the Nightwing has taken his place."

She grew quiet before she slowly nodded. "I know. I spoke to him, the night I was with that other man. After I threw him out. I think he feels…"

"He feels responsible for you," Bane finished for her, remembering past conversations he'd had with the young hero when it concerned Camille. "He believes the lie we told the city. It saddens him that he was not able to save you from me."

Camille looked down at her forearm, brushed her fingers over the various scars that littered across her skin. The damaged skin that she had caused herself because past pain had become terribly unbearable. She thought of how no one had rescued her from the family who had almost destroyed her, how no one, even though she was here now, had rescued her from Bane when she hadn't wanted to be with him. To know now and grasp fully that someone _did_ feel ashamed that they hadn't gotten to her in time made her feel strange. Made her feel like maybe she could no longer relate. "It's a hard thing to know," she said quietly.

"What is?"

"How anyone could feel that way. Feel that way for _me_, I suppose. Why would it sadden a stranger that I was taken? And why would anyone… try to find me?"

Bane tilted his head some, found that he had been looking at the scars along her forearms with her. "Your soul wounds are your greatest undoing. That boy searches for you because he is trying to fill the void the Batman left behind. But you do not want to be found, do you?"

Camille looked back up at him. The world didn't know of her choices. The world didn't know of the pull she felt around him that would automatically be seen as unacceptable. The city still thought of her as that poor raped woman who had made a bad decision in her choice of patients. The city she hated, the city she would have to return to one day. But at least she would be herself, right next to where she belonged. She shook her head. "No."

"He might try to take you away from me when we go back."

"I told you I won't leave you." She took his outstretched hand and stood, grasped his arm when he went to turn away. "Maybe we shouldn't go back."

Bane stared into her black eyes, felt some tiny part deep inside that could have agreed with her. But the other part was stronger. The other part told him that he could never leave a job unfinished. And because he didn't want to explore that other part of him, he simply decided to listen to it. Some things had to be done. Some things had to be completed. And regardless of whatever face that other part came with, he knew he needed to go back.

"I'm afraid that is not an option," he answered softly, and placed his hand on the small of her back to steer her to the bedroom. "You still have to strengthen your endurance before you sleep."

Camille sighed, but let him push her. "You can just call it sex, you know."

"Multiple purposes, my dear. You build your stamina and I am rewarded for all the hard work I put into your body each day."

"That's a good one," she said dryly, and watched him as he closed their door and flooded the room in darkness. But she could feel him approaching her, stood still until she felt his wandering hands. "What scares me is that you're never joking when we talk about this."

"I couldn't be more serious. Now lie down."

* * *

"Keep that eye focused. The sun means nothing to you, do not even think about the light in your way. Your arm is straight, keep it up and zero in on your target. Remember not to breathe while you aim. Your arm drops a little every time you let out a breath. You have six rounds. I want each and every bottle destroyed. No," Bane muttered, and walked up to Camille's side to right her hips, readjusting them so she stood more adequately as she aimed the small hand gun. "_Stop_ leaning all of your weight on one leg. I will not allow you to develop bad habits." Bane placed his hands on her hips behind her, kept them in line as she lifted her arm again to point at the beer bottles further down the sand. The bindings around her body squeezed against her skin, keeping her back straight and her breasts pushed in and out of the way. "There is a mistake here," Bane told her. "Correct it."

Camille quickly thought back to all her other weapons training with him, and started mentally checking off on her list. Her stance was right, now that he was holding her, her fingers were positioned correctly, her vision set on the bottles so far away. Her arm… Camille closed one eye, realized her arm was a little higher than the target, and calmly lowered it to the appropriate height. She set her shoulders back, slowly breathed in.

"Perfect," Bane murmured against her. He leaned down, leveled his sight with hers to make sure everything was set properly. "If you destroy all six targets, I will let you get out of the sun. Do not stop to check if you hit them. Just keep going. Now…" Bane squeezed her hips to keep her in place. "Open fire."

Camille fired five rounds, felt little flares of joy each time she heard the piercing sound of a shattered bottle, and how she would no longer have to stand out here in the Indian sun. But after she left number four, she didn't fire the sixth round when she neglected to see the fifth bottle in shards on the sand. She kept the gun pointed, but could only see the perfectly intact beer bottle laughing at her so far away. After a short night of sleep, she was tired. After standing out here for two hours, she felt burned. She wasn't in the mood to see that bottle. She was hot and red, sleepy and sore. Her eyes widened, she continued to hold her breath.

No break for her. Only more sun, only more work. And hardly any sleep. Her jaw clenched, her fist tightened at her side.

"_Dammit!_"

"Why did you stop?"

Camille brushed Bane's hands off her, stepped away and seethed in frustration. "Because I didn't get the _fucking_ bottle, that's why!" She growled softly, took the gun and slammed it to the ground.

Then screamed and ducked as the sixth round went off.

A few moments later, Camille lowered her arms from her head. Regrettably, she glanced over at Bane. He didn't seem happy, and that would only mean more work for her, and even more _endurance training_ later that night. She quickly looked him over, checking for any blood, any bullet holes. "Are you okay?"

"Do you know what I would have done to you if that bullet had hit either one of us?"

Camille swallowed and slowly stood, brushing at a few black curls that were sticking to her sweaty face as she rubbed her red painted lips together. "I'm sorry."

"If it had hit you," Bane continued, ignoring her actions and her apology. "Well, that would have been punishment enough. If it had hit me, I would have taken that gun and knocked you over the head with it."

"I said I was sorry."

"You are _not_ sorry because you have once again let your temper get the best of you. That fire can be harnessed and used very efficiently in combat, as I've told you. But in situations like these, when I would need you to be perfect and capable, you become _weak_ in your anger. If that bullet would have hit me, I could be dead right now. And then where would you be? Answer me that, Camille."

She really wanted to roll her eyes. But the last time she'd done that Bane had made her run five miles in the sun without any water. She'd tried telling him that the gesture wasn't because she was ungrateful. The only reason why she was even putting up with his special endurance training each night was because she was very grateful to him. But he hadn't believed her, and had disciplined her all the same. And in fear of something like that repeating, she kept her eyes on his.

"Answer me right now. Where would you be?"

Camille imagined the bullet she'd accidently fired in her frustration hitting Bane in a place that would have ended him. She imagined blood spurting, his body dropping to the ground and his mask ceasing to hiss because he was no longer breathing. All because she had made a mistake. All because she had a temper that had reared its ugly head when she shouldn't have let it do so. Where would she be? he'd asked her. What would have happened if that had been true? Camille lifted a hand, pulled some on the bindings around her chest and looked away from his piercing stare.

"I would be dead too," she answered softly.

Bane stared at her, and didn't know if he liked her words. He had always told her to imagine the worst so that she could make the best decision in the blink of an eye. He told her it was one of the most important skills he would need for her to have. Time would never be still, he'd told her. She would have to learn to use it efficiently, and know how to change the circumstances to fit her needs for survival. And he knew, based on her expression alone, what she had been thinking of. Suddenly he wasn't as angry. Suddenly, he realized that maybe she had just punished herself enough.

If he was dead, then she would be dead. That thought gave him a strange feeling.

"Let us get out of the heat," he told her, and waited for her to follow him back to the house.

"No more sun?"

"For today, no more sun." He ignored her when she wrapped her arm around his.

"Be careful. I might get spoiled."

"Highly unlikely, my darling." Bane opened the sliding glass door, gave her bottom a rough pat when she walked past him. "You will make up for lost time tomorrow."

* * *

Later that evening, once training was complete and both of them were clean from the day's sweat and grime, the wind howled at the glass of the windows, the stars in the black sky half covered by even blacker clouds. Dressed in clean, comfortable clothes of a red tank top and gray shorts, Camille walked into the living room off from the kitchen and found Bane sitting on the huge rainbow-shaped sectional couch as the flames from the lighted fireplace warmed and flickered. She watched him for a moment, always watched him when he was this way, doing something she would have never thought to be a talent of his before she'd discovered it some time ago.

On his lap was an acoustic guitar, the soft music he played from it drifting through the room and overpowering the rush of the wind from outside. Camille had never known he could play, had asked him where he learned the first night she had seen his fingers moving gracefully over the strings, making something vital in her chest swell.

"There was an old pastor in the pit long ago," he'd told her, that first night he had found the instrument and picked it up. "He taught it to me when I was young. It was a skill that helped pass the time when the books were gone, and a skill that helped Talia sleep when she would have bad nights. I taught her as well shortly after I began to raise her. I never forgot how to play."

It was something he liked to do, she found, when he needed to relax but still remain somewhat active, something that wouldn't cause him to think, but something productive. And he was very good, she thought, standing close by and listening to the music he created. But Bane seemed to be good at anything he could do. Approaching him closer, she crawled onto the couch next to him, hugged her legs and rested her cheek on top of her knees. She was so tired and knew that she should probably go to sleep. But she felt the urge to be close to him, found that she wanted to hear him play the guitar some more so she could fall instantly asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow.

"You didn't eat anything," Bane murmured to her, keeping his eyes on the strings and continuing to play.

"Rice and chicken isn't very appealing anymore. And I'm not hungry."

"Your diet does not consist of missing any meals. Each one is required for a strong body. It will not take long to cook."

Camille sighed and found that food was the least of what she wanted right now. But Bane had put her on a strict diet, always made sure she ate when she was expected to. She knew that regardless if she was hungry or not, he would make sure something got in her stomach. And she knew he needed to eat, as well. "Do I have to?" she asked anyway.

"Yes. I will eat with you."

It was very rare when they would eat at the same time. Bane would have to inject himself with morphine, wait for it to kick in, and simply devour his whole plate of food quickly right then and there while she stayed in the kitchen. In one of the rooms that had been an office, Camille had set up more equipment so that she could continue to make more of his analgesics for him. Usually he had his meals in there, where the morphine was. But tonight it would change.

"If you're going to be around me without the mask for a short time, wouldn't you want to kiss me instead of eat?"

Bane smiled underneath his mask, continued to play and avoid her gaze. "To kiss me is a privilege you have, not a right. Your lost time from earlier will be made up with cooking tonight. Go on."

When she rolled her eyes, he decided to ignore it. And told himself it had nothing to do with the soft kiss she placed on his shoulder before she rose from the couch. Bane looked down at his skin once she'd gone into the kitchen, found the imprint of her lips set in red lipstick, something she was always leaving behind on him. The smells of rice and chicken drifted into the room with his music a little while later, another sound mixing with the strums of the guitar. Bane stopped his fingers and listened. Camille's faint singing voice sang softly from the kitchen as she prepared the food.

Bane smiled again, and continued to play.

In the kitchen, Camille stood at the stove and stirred the large wooden spoon in the big pot where the brown rice slowly cooked, all her black hair piled into a messy bun on top of her head and out of the way. The chicken was already done, most of it in a giant pile on the plate that would be Bane's. She set three big spoonful's of rice alongside it, set the plate on the counter and let it cool off for him as he left to go inject himself with the morphine he would need to eat. Regrettably, she placed more food on a separate plate for herself, felt the need to hurl at the sight of it because she was so very tired. She had a bruise on her hip and her elbow from the self-defense moves she was learning, her muscles wincing at her in soreness every time she moved that particular joint. Eating now was something she really didn't want, but knew Bane was right, knew it was necessary.

She wished she could see herself. The only thing she ever _could _see was her face in the toaster when she would try to make herself look somewhat decent and put her lipstick on. Other than that, she had no idea what her body was beginning to look like after all the months Bane had been training her. She tried looking down at her body, but simply doing that couldn't seem to give her the same results a mirror could. But all the mirrors were gone, and she was left clueless.

Would she still have curves? she asked herself, stirring the rice some more. She didn't want to look like those big, muscular women that had lost their feminine shape. Camille assumed her breasts were getting smaller, and that her rear was getting tighter and more firm. But would she lose her shape completely? How would she look in a dress if her hips ceased to exist? For a moment, Camille had a horrifying image of a ghastly woman with bulging arms and shapeless sides, her sex suddenly questionable because she no longer looked like the woman she used to be. She quickly shook her head, and made a mental note to tell Bane how she _didn't_ want to look, no matter what he said.

She heard the long strides of his feet coming closer, the quickness in his steps telling her that he was without his mask and wanting to make haste before his chronic pain could have the chance to tear at his insides. She shut off the burner, set the hot tools in the sink to be washed.

"Camille."

She spun around to make sure that he was okay.

And with frantic eyes, instantly lifted her hands out to him, took a useless step forward right before his body crashed into hers. Right before his mouth fused onto her lips as he began to kiss her.

Desperately, they wrapped their arms around each other, Bane lifting her from the floor to bring her closer and more level with him, Camille wrapping her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist as her back forcefully hit the edge of the counter. Bane set her on the surface, opened his mouth against hers so that he could taste her more. Frantically, they nipped at each other's lips, sucked at each other's tongues. Tasted and tasted because it was so very rare to do so.

He had only kissed her one other time, long ago in Gotham on a cold night, the night she had brushed away the freedom he'd given her to return to him once again. It was hard to manage the time. It was hard to get so much done without the mask in the few minutes the morphine allowed him with it off. But he couldn't resist her now, couldn't seem to stop thinking about tasting her mouth as soon as she'd brought it up. That first night he'd kissed her, they both thought it was only to get rid of the sexual frustration that had been annoying them for weeks. Now, it almost seemed necessary. Bane gripped her waist, moved his hands underneath her to hold her bottom as Camille sighed against his mouth, teased his lips with her pouty, painted ones.

To taste his lips was like tasting food after near starvation. Camille pulled him closer, moaned softly against him as his tongue entered her mouth again, and felt full. Felt complete. To be able to kiss him was so rare it almost went unnoticed, but to feel his mouth against hers now made her wonder how she could think of anything else. She would leave the world over and over again for this one simple taste. And she would wait many months more just to have it again.

With a loud, wet smack, Bane removed his mouth, groaned in frustration when his eyes wondered down to her lips. The flares of his plaguing ache were beginning to bother him, but the combination of wanting to kiss her more was pulling him in a different direction. Kissing any woman was so foreign to Bane that he wasn't sure if he'd ever done it before Camille. And he wanted to keep going, wanted to keep tasting her, wanted to taste her everywhere. Grasping at her bare neck, Bane leaned in once more and kissed her as deeply as he could, not knowing when he would be able to be with her this way again.

With a pout, Camille tried to reach for him once he moved away, turning around so that he could quickly eat the food she'd made for him before soothing himself with the mask that kept him alive. With her head dizzy and her lips still wet from his mouth, Camille watched him eat as she licked at her lips, tasting him there again so that she could wait patiently until the next time.

* * *

As the days went on, Camille's training had suddenly intensified, so much so that Bane would occasionally have to carry her to the bathroom to shower at the end of the day. He would strip her bare, send her into the shower and wait until a little while later before he would keep her up most of the night when his needs would take over. Thankfully now, Camille was resting peacefully in their bed alone, drifting in and out after a very long, hot day.

A few of Bane's men had showed up to speak with him, and she'd taken her cue to sneak off and leave him to it. She sometimes wondered if she would be allowed to stay during one of their meetings, but figured that it would be pointless since they spoke only in a language that wasn't English. Bane was trying to teach her some Arabic, the language besides English they used most often, but she wasn't near as fluent as the rest of them to keep up with any kind of conversation. And Barsad, Bane's favorite solider, seemed on edge whenever she was around, or when she had to ask Bane something in front of him. But it didn't bother her. She was more than happy to leave the men to whatever the hell it was that they did and sleep for a little while until Bane would crawl into bed with her.

Camille sighed deeply in sleep, rolled onto her back and kicked at the covers. Wearing only her underwear because that was how she was most comfortable, she stretched her aching limbs and continued to slumber. For once, it was peacefully. For a little while, it was alone.

The ache in her body and her natural restlessness caused her to constantly drift between sleep and wakefulness. Sometimes she wasn't all too sure if she really was awake or simply still sleeping. She questioned it now, drawing her brows together in confusion as she tried to sleep, as she tried to get as much rest as she could. But she felt a hand trail down her stomach, that same hand that was always waking her up. The same hand that was now slipping underneath her panties.

Keeping her eyes closed, Camille swallowed softly and tried to shift. But that hand was holding her down, parting her now and delving deep into her heat. Waking up further because she had no other choice, Camille felt the tubes of Bane's mask press against the side of her face as he touched her where he knew she loved to be touched, as she instinctively spread one of her thighs so that he could touch her more.

"Good girl," he softly growled into her ear, his deep voice vibrating against her skin and causing her to shiver. He watched her face as he slid his middle finger inside her, appreciated her sigh and the slow rise and fall of her chest. But then her whole body stilled, then he realized that he was relaxing her further. With a louder voice and a firm press into her neck with his mask, Bane removed his finger and made her jump when he spoke. "Wake up, Camille."

Her eyes flew open, a soft groan of sleepiness escaping her lips. She looked around, remembered the situation. Remembered her obligation. "Bane…"

He shushed her, and watched as she obediently opened her mouth for him so that he could slide his moist finger past those pouty lips of hers, felt her tongue as she pleased him the way he'd once instructed her to. He reached down to pull her panties off of her hips, turned her face to look at him once he saw those eyes begin to flutter shut again.

"Camille… I want you to ride me."

Too sleepy to argue, she nodded and sat up so that he could pull her on top of him. "Okay, okay," she breathed, and noticed his erection, hovered over him for a moment before she slid down onto his length. She placed her hands on his hard chest, rocked her hips on him and tried to ignore the annoying stretch that she feared she would never be used to.

On nights like these, she always obeyed and gave him what he wanted. But she didn't know what it would cost her. She couldn't know that it would turn into something else, something that would leave her drained, lost, and almost forgotten. Something that would cause her pure, terrible exhaustion. Camille continued to move on top of Bane, and couldn't know the price.

But she had no other choice.

**TBC**

**A/N: I have the very best readers and reviewers. If I could, I would kiss each and every one of you. I was asked if the girl from the image for **_**Amaranthine**_** was me again. It is. I tried my best to make it look nice. And once again, I just want to remind everyone to trust me. Hopefully I came through for everyone with **_**Mercenary**_**, and just know that I'll do the same for this one. Everything has a purpose with the way I write, as you all know. Thank you again for the mind blowing reviews. Thank you again for liking my words, loves. **


	4. What Have You Done

_**Amaranthine**_

**Chapter 4**

**What Have You Done**

"_Would you mind if I hurt you? Understand that I need to. Wish that I had other choices then to harm the one I love." – Within Temptation _

She was knocked onto her back, sweat dripping from her skin and her muscles on fire. She swore she had a red, burning line on her side from her bindings digging into her skin and a bruise already forming where her sternum was from Bane's blow to her chest. And once again, just like every other time he knocked her down during combat training, he began to scold her.

"I knew you were not stretching during the times I advised you to. I have _never_ seen weaker, clumsier legs. How do you expect to evade properly in this condition?"

Still lying on her back, Camille stared up at the ceiling over the deck outside where they were training, and tried to listen to him and ignore him all at the same time.

More months had passed, and Camille was now in full training for combat. She still did the mandatory exercises, but now that her body was a lot stronger she had graduated to the art of fighting. Every day, regardless of what the schedule was now, Bane would have her spar with him, teaching her and attacking her all at once. At first she'd done horribly, but after quickly learning to apply every single lesson Bane had ever taught her, she was steadily becoming better and better. She had to, or otherwise she would have her instructor to answer to for her lack.

Because she'd lost weight and was gaining a new, stronger shape, Bane had brought new bindings for her, ones that would squeeze against her skin the way he needed them to on her. The tight black leggings still ran up to her waist, and the strip of black fabric that wrapped around her torso like a strapless bra still held in her breasts so that she could move more efficiently. She was suffering in them now, trying to breathe against their restriction as Bane continued on, wearing his standard military garb of cargo pants and his armored vest.

"Are you listening to me, Camille?"

"Yes, master."

He narrowed his eyes. "Sit up and reach for your toes. I want to see your nose touch your thighs."

"Well you're not going to get that because I'm not flexible. As you already know, since you've been yelling at me about it for the past ten minutes."

"Stretch," he ordered her softly, pointing to her legs. "Then get up and begin again."

And before he could punish her with something else, she sat up and bent her body.

As her muscles screamed and pulled, Camille tried desperately not to think about how tired she was. Months of the same routine was not working out well for her, or at least in a way that would allow her to feel rested and ready for what he would throw at her. Bane was very demanding of her, expecting nothing but the best from her because he was trying to mold her into someone that could fit into his world. It was a truth that had kept her quiet and obedient for so long, a truth that would drive her to give him that very best he wanted. All day long she fought and trained and learned from him. Yes, Bane was very demanding.

He was even more demanding at night.

Camille had to agree with him that the sex really had built up her stamina, along with vigorous exercise. She knew places on her body were much stronger because of her endurance training at night instead of the work outs he would put her through during the day. But that strength was definitely coming with a price. A price that she was beginning to feel wasn't worth it at all.

She felt like she never slept. Camille knew what Bane was trying to accomplish with her, but she also knew, now that she had been with him for half of a year, that he had certain needs when it came to intimacy. She didn't know if it came from a willing woman with him every single day now, instead of the brief affairs he would have throughout the years when he hadn't been with Talia. But Bane was always wanting something from her. And because she was dependent on him, because he was helping her with so much and had taken her in when she had nowhere else to go, she let him have her every night, let him take whatever he wanted simply because he wanted it.

And she never slept.

Even now, with her upper body leaning down so that she could stretch her hamstrings and her calves, Camille felt her eyes begin to droop, felt her shoulders steadily fall as the need for sleep began to consume her. She was so tired. But sleep was so far away.

"Up now, Camille. A few more rounds and then we will move on."

She looked up at him, at the huge man that was so hard on her all day long and so needy at night. The man who would send his boot her way just so she could bolt away from it, and the man who would wake her with his caressing hands and his soft demands in her ear. Reluctantly, she rose and rolled her shoulders for battle.

"What is the perfect line-up for the upper body?"

"Block, punch, hook, uppercut."

"And do you have time to think about any of this in combat?"

"No."

"Good," he muttered. "Mind your form. Mind your _legs_."

"Mind your surroundings," she finished.

Bane smiled softly, began to circle her like a shark. "My perfect girl."

And then he lunged.

Camille side-stepped to the left, felt the surge of adrenaline she desperately needed, and swatted at his arm that had meant to grab her. She sent her knee to his side, successfully twisted away once he grabbed her thigh. She sent her elbow into his chest, felt the sting all the way to her neck at the impact of his hard clothing, but continued on. Bane sent his fist to her face, she ducked and countered it with a blow to his ribs. After that, it was an impressive series of blocks and hits, steps and pivots. Camille kept her jaw tight, her fists clenched as she tried her hardest to concentrate on when Bane would move, what he would move and how he would use it. She blocked, she jabbed, she stopped him from hitting her neck and her shoulder, stopped him when his massive hand went for her hair. Her ponytail bounced along as she moved, as she dodged him so that she could last longer and actually have him happy with her for once. With lightning speed, she noticed Bane's arm coming down towards her head, lifted her own in an X shape to stop it. When she did, she actually smiled.

Then let out an _oof_ when his other arm pushed at her chest, and sent her back onto the deck.

Just like last time, she stayed where she was, waiting for him to scold her, waiting for him to tell her to get up and start over. But she didn't want to get up. She didn't want to continue. Even after she realized, a few weeks ago, that she really did like learning how to fight and sparring with Bane, she knew now that she just wanted to go back to their dark room, and stay motionless.

She just wanted to _not_ move for a little while. That was all she wanted.

"I don't want to do anymore rounds," she murmured as Bane remained standing, waiting for her to rise and come at him again.

"Stopping is not an option at the moment. You are improving."

"Don't say those things to me when I know you don't mean it."

Bane walked a little closer, stared down at her. He didn't want her to stop, didn't want her to give up just because she would have brief moments of failure. He knew what lingered deep down inside her, that fire that needed a fan at times. That heat that could be used so very efficiently. And because he knew of that heat so well, because he'd seen it time and time again, he would refuse to let her stop. He would force her to be better, so that she could stay. He would turn her into something dangerous, so that he could keep her. Kneeling down at her feet, he took one of her ankles and slowly lifted it into the air. He could feel her limbs tense, scooted a little closer between her thighs and gently bent her knee. "Relax," he told her when she looked up at him questioningly. "I am simply stretching you further."

Camille watched him for a moment, watched as he stretched her leg back closer to her body, even placing his hand on the bottom of her boot to push her foot back for an even tighter stretch. She let her head fall back onto the deck, decided to just do what he said and relax. She couldn't really remember the last time she'd fully relaxed.

Bane ran his hand up the back of her thigh, felt the tight, constricting skin there as it pulled. He pushed her leg back until her knee almost touched her chest, let it fall back some to relax the muscle before he started the stretch again. He heard her let out a quick, uncomfortable breath every time he pushed her leg, and decided that maybe it would be better if he took her mind off the annoying pull. "Your training does have an end, if that eases your mind any."

Camille closed her eyes and tried not to wince every time her knee touched her chest from his pushes. "Let me guess. I have to be initiated."

She'd known about the League of Shadows even before Bane knew she possessed that knowledge. She had once unnerved him because she had known even more than that when they used to have session. But after their months of living together, Bane had gone further into detail about the League, and told her of his training and time there. For her own benefit, he was incorporating some aspects of the League's teachings into her own training. But for some reason, there were certain lines he found he didn't want to cross with her. Bane kept his eyes on stretching her leg.

"This is not the League of Shadows," he answered softly. "Not for you. But, in a way, yes. There are three obstacles you will have to overcome before you are deemed worthy to enter the field. You may look at them as initiations, if you'd like."

Camille felt him set her leg down, pick up the other and begin to stretch that one as well. "What are they?"

"The first is a certain routine that I want to see completed absolutely perfectly in an allotted amount of time. This will show me that you know the moves of combat and can do them superbly, no matter how long I tell you to continue doing them. The second…" Bane straightened her leg, lifted it as far as it would go until she winced. "The second is to best me in sparring. I am still planning out the third."

Camille took a deep breath, kept her eyes closed as she let it out slowly. "Cool."

Bane set down her leg, stared at her until she opened one eye to look back at him. "You have not burned me with that lovely fire inside you lately."

Irritation simmered in her chest. Of course she hadn't, she thought to herself, scooting a little away from him. She could never please him. She was always doing something wrong, never doing anything good enough for the perfect Bane. "What are you talking about? I snip at you all the time. Isn't that what you tell me?"

"Yes, but it has just become routine now. You have not been as aggressive for a few weeks. How can I harness that if I can never find it?"

He couldn't find it because she was so damn tired all the time. She wanted to say that, found that she didn't have the energy anymore. If she was too snippy, she was in trouble. And apparently she was in trouble if she wasn't snippy enough. Never good enough during the day. Forced to be good enough at night. "Let's just keep going so I can be done, okay?"

"Are you falling back into the trap of depression? I will not supply you with medication."

Camille sighed deeply and rubbed her sweaty face, felt that maybe her stupidly chosen fuchsia pink lipstick was smeared on her mouth. "No, for God's sake. I don't take the pills anymore, you know that."

"Then tell me why," he said, a little harshly because now he could feel her irritation settling within his own body. "I have been trying to get it out of you and all I ever hear are complaints."

She didn't care, she rolled her eyes at him. "Look, I'm hot. I hate the summer, and I'm hot. Look at me. My lipstick is ruined all the time and my hair is starting to dreadlock out in this heat."

Bane felt his fists tightening, stared at her and knew that he was now fully irritated with her. And he couldn't stand it. "Is that what this is about? Your _appearance_?"

Not only did she dare to roll her eyes at him, but she did the one thing he hated even more than that. With a scoff, she turned her head away from him, and dismissed him. Just like she used to do when she'd been his prisoner.

It was time to play rough.

"I suppose I will have to take more drastic actions."

Camille watched him as he calmly stood and walked right for the sliding glass door back into their home. "Where are you going?"

"I have destroyed every single mirror in this house to keep you from your womanly vanities. But apparently that was not enough. Now, I will get rid of the one thing I have so foolishly allowed you."

She drew her brows together, tried to think and grasp his words. Then she sucked in a fast, nervous breath. Then, her feet were scrambling to stand. "Bane? Bane, where exactly are you going?"

He took the handle to the door, answered her bluntly. "The vanity."

The vanity. Where all her little treasures were. The last thing she had to make herself look decent, make herself feel normal. The image of him destroying them flashed into her mind. Her eyes widened and her feet bolted to catch him. "Don't touch them. Please don't touch them." She flinched and jumped back when he slid the glass door closed right in her face with a bang, flicking the lock and keeping her outside. With a glare, he turned on his heel and headed straight for their bedroom.

"Bane? Bane! Don't touch my lipsticks, you bastard!" She pounded on the glass, kicked and screeched when it refused to break. "Bane!"

He ignored her, continued on the path to the room with his focus set, his anger bubbling. If she was so worried about her silly makeup and her messy hair, then he would simply get rid of one, and possibly chop off the other. It would certainly stop the complaining, stop the useless _primping_ and allow him to do what needed to be done with her. Mouth paint would not take precedence over her training. He would not allow it. Bane stomped through the house, set the sounds of her wailing out of his mind as the door came into focus, as the target neared.

All one hundred and twenty pounds of enraged Camille flew over the couch and straight into him, knocking him to the floor from her speed and force.

She crawled on top of his back, tried to hold him down even when he bucked his back and sent her off. With a snarl, she surged at him again as the front door banged hard into the wall, the only other way she could have gotten back into the house after running around it from outside. She pushed him onto his back, uselessly felt that maybe her weight was enough to keep him down, but was quickly thrown off again. But that didn't stop her. That didn't stop her from protecting what was hers. She lunged at him for a third time, tried desperately to keep him from standing and destroying the only possessions that had ever meant anything to her. She growled at him, clawed at him, was dragged along the floor as he tried to get past this suddenly energetic woman with a strength in her he'd always known she had. Until finally he had enough. Until finally, he batted her away, grabbing the front of her neck and holding her against the wall.

Camille continued to glare at him, continued to dare him with her eyes to go anywhere near the vanity that housed her lipstick. She pulled all her weight up by his arm, set her boots on his stomach and prepared for round two.

Bane stared at her, and then loosened his grip around her neck. He stared at her, and finally saw the fire. What he had needed, what he had wanted to see. And now, here was the heat. Camille still wanted to take him on, still wanted to challenge him to even try and get near her things. And with that look alone, his gaze softened. "There she is," he murmured, reaching up with his other hand and caressing her face, her cheeks red and her black eyes fierce. "There is my aggressive, little vixen."

And then suddenly, after realizing his cruel intentions of driving her into a raging fury just for the sake of it, she felt even more tired. Bane was not going to get rid of her lipsticks, they were going to be fine. And with that knowledge, she let out a deep breath and tried to move away from him, suddenly wanting to be alone. Suddenly wishing that he had some meeting he had to go to, and would leave her all by herself. She didn't know how she felt about that. She didn't know if it was a good thing. Maybe they had just been spending too much time together. Maybe, she was done and wanted to crawl into a deep hole.

All by herself.

"Let go of me," she murmured, and moved her face away from his hand, set her feet back onto the floor and tried to push him away by his chest.

Bane stepped back, watched her as she sauntered off. "I'm not going to touch your precious tubes."

"I know you won't," she muttered, with a hint of a threat in her voice.

That night, after he fell asleep, she moved all her lipsticks to a place he couldn't find them, a place he wouldn't look. Right into a Tampax box underneath the bathroom counter.

And then crawled, with a sickening reluctance that worried her, back into bed next to him.

* * *

How could he not know? How could he not understand? Bane had been through training far worse than she had, training that had really meant life or death for him. He'd told her stories about his time with Ra's al Ghul, told her about the hatred, the resentment, and the cold disgust that had radiated from his master every time he entered the room. Everything set around Talia, and everything solely having to do with the woman who had been her mother, the woman who had been raped to death in the pit of hell. And even after all of that, after truly living in shadows his whole life, how could he see her now and continue to think nothing was wrong?

Camille had tried to tell him, tried countless times to tell Bane that the unyielding training all day long was not mixing well with his needs every night. But his sexual appetite seemed to go beyond her voice, seemed to ignore her completely and only want her to lie down and hold him.

But how could she turn him away? The burdens of knowing what he was doing for her aside, how could she simply tell him no when she was the only person in his life to stay with him, to take care of him simply because she wanted to? How could she deny Bane's needs when she had given up the world for him?

She couldn't, and it was the only reason why she submissively let him do what he wanted to her. Each and every night he was home.

There were nights when Camille was too sleepy to put anything into the sex. It was hard enough to stay awake, hard enough to keep her body the way he would want it that particular night to satisfy him. She just let him take, just let him fill her and then empty. It was the only thing she had any kind of strength for at the end of the day.

And Bane didn't seem to notice her lack of participation.

But even if he didn't notice, he still made her come, still pushed her up high enough so that he could feel her release, so that he could use it to have his own. Camille didn't like to think of him as a selfish lover. She had been married to the personification of selfish once before, and didn't want to go down that road again. But realizing it was giving her an odd feeling. A feeling of hesitancy, a feeling of discouragement. A feeling that made her sad.

_How could he not know?_

Camille could remember a time when she had enjoyed sex with Bane. She could remember when she had officially become intimate with him, the times when taking and giving was all that mattered. The times when she had known, in her heart, that she was completely satisfied. Rough sex was the best sex, and Bane was the perfect partner to fulfill those needs.

Now, sex was a chore. Sex was a hindrance because it only meant that she couldn't go to sleep, that she had to stay up after a very long, very hard day of training to please him because he was simply insatiable.

A couple of weeks passed since the lipstick incident, and Camille simply went through the motions. She was still improving, still trying to give him her best during the day. But when training would be over, and they were simply Bane and Camille, her need to be around him, that _pull_, became nothing other than tension.

She hated it.

The routine that Bane was going to teach her for her first test to completion was nearing its end. She knew the moves, knew the names of the various punches and kicks that went into it. He would show her first, move her body himself to show her how he wanted it done, and then stand back with his arms crossed as she tried to copy him.

"Do not snap your joints. You want to put more strength into the blow, not distance. That will come later, as you get used to the movement. Just reach out far enough to execute it perfectly, with enough power to send your attacker to the ground."

Camille cracked her back, lifted her hands and did it almost exactly as he had showed her.

"Wonderful!" he said cheerfully, lifting her elbows a little higher. "You are quite short, so you will have to learn how to use that to your advantage. Let me see the hits again."

She almost felt like she were in some kind of intense kickboxing class when she acted out the punches, her bindings digging into her skin and sweat dripping down her back. But when she saw Bane pleased - for once - she felt just a little spark of happiness, something she wasn't feeling lately when it came to him. He asked to see her kicks then, and when she lifted her knees exactly how he'd instructed her to, when she sent her foot out at the level he wanted, he told her she was ready for the routine.

"You will perform the moves I have taught you for exactly one hour straight. And you will do them perfectly, each and every time, or I will stop the clock and have you start over."

Camille nodded, no longer thinking something was terribly hard anymore. She just did what Bane told her to do because she had to. "I hope I can do it."

Bane tilted his head at her, reached behind her head to tighten her very long curly black ponytail. He looked down at her body, at the changes she was not aware of yet, and set his hands on her shoulders. "I know you can."

"My legs aren't getting stronger."

He lifted a brow, glanced down briefly at the limbs that were giving him such problems. "A minor annoyance for now. You will just focus on completing the routine in the exact way I have taught you. This way, it will become locked in your brain, and you will improve greatly."

Camille looked up at him. She tried to forget the tension. She didn't want to feel it at all. Maybe if she just ignored it, it would go away. But she wasn't very confident in the fact. "And then I have to take you on."

"All in good time, my darling. You would not be doing this now if I didn't feel that you were ready. But I do."

Maybe she could forget it, she thought, staring into those green eyes that had attracted her from the very beginning. She didn't want to feel this way around him. She wanted things to go back to how they used to be, before she was so tired, before he would have to wake her in the night to please him and force her release because of that exhaustion. But, she told herself once he lifted his hands from her shoulders, she couldn't go back. Things were the way they were now, and she couldn't change it because she was grateful to him. Because her chest still swelled every time she would look at him.

Not like with Jackson. Not like with Talia. But something similar.

Bane told her to take five minutes to gather herself before she would begin, so she walked into the kitchen, drank some water down before she picked up her lipstick from the counter and looked at her face in the toaster's reflection. Her face was distorted, almost like a funhouse mirror because the appliance was old, but it still did the job so that she could reapply the plum color she'd chosen that morning. She heard Bane walk into the kitchen behind her, smacked her lips together lightly and figured it was the best she was going to look.

"Why do you have such an affection for that makeup?"

Camille pulled her ponytail out, picked up her hair to redo it. The bindings were so tight, and pulled against her underarms as she lifted her hands to fasten the band. "My mother never let me wear it."

Bane glanced at her deep purple lips. Camille had not brought up her mother in months, not since the day they found out that she had been trying to threaten Camille into doing away with him for good, for the sake of the city. When Camille had refused each and every time, her mother had sent a rat to punish her. And Bane had executed the rat. "So you are just rebelling?"

She thought about it, shrugged. "Maybe. I was never allowed to wear makeup or dresses or high heels. My mother wanted to be the only woman to shine in our house. The first time I ever put on makeup, she hit me. She split my lips with her rings." Camille scratched at her forearms, over the raised skin there that had been her only escape. "I had to cover up the cuts, for work. Lipstick did the trick. And… I just thought it looked really pretty."

Now she wore dresses. Now she wore heels. Now she constantly wore paint on her mouth to cover up cuts that weren't there anymore, but ones she would always see. Bane understood that. No matter how much his face had healed over the years, he would always see the beaten mess he'd been after Talia had climbed away from him in prison. It was a hard thing to know what you had once looked like. It was even harder to convince yourself that things had changed.

Maybe that was why they were here now. Maybe, they just needed someone exactly like themselves.

"Come," Bane told her, beckoning her back outside onto the deck. "You will perform the routine and be one step closer to completion."

It might've sounded easy. It might've sounded like anyone could do it. Punch, punch, hook, uppercut, punch, block, side-step, kick, jab, high knees. It went on and on. And with determination set between her brows, with the need to be something other than a victim, something _else_, Camille kept on. She pushed through the worst, tried not to give up when Bane made her start over three times. She would mess up, and he would say, again. She would think she was doing fine until he would hold up a hand and say it a second time. Then the exhaustion came, and almost stopped her. Then she tried with the simple purpose of getting it over with and heard that horrible word through his mask.

"Again."

No, she told herself, sweat pouring from her in the Indian heat, her legs screaming, her arms wailing at her to stop. She would not give up. She would demand her body to learn how to fight, force it to become what she needed to be to stay with him because she was lost without him, even after everything she was going through with him now. She would complete this routine. She would harness her anger, her aggression, and finally use it. She had let others trample her before. Now, she would trample them and crush them. No longer the sad little girl in the hole. She would not go there again.

_I hope I can do it. _

_I know you can. _

She could.

Bane watched on, watched Camille throw her punches, move her clumsy legs, twist her hips in the art of fighting he was teaching to her. The first half hour had gone by, and without ever looking at him, she kept on. Kept fighting her imaginary opponent. He watched the new muscles gracing her body constrict and finally become useful. Watched her become the physically strong woman he'd always known she was. He started circling her, eyeing her movements to make absolutely sure everything was being done perfectly. And when it was, pride filled him. This was his creation. Not the League of Shadows'. Not Ra's al Ghul's.

All his.

"Keep going," he called to her as she fought, as he carefully observed. "You have five minutes left. Just keep going."

And she did. She panted, she sweat, she hurt. But she did.

"You are perfect, my girl. Perfect. Three times," he said to her, coming to stand at her side as she continued.

And then he was doing it with her. Side by side they fought, their movements in sync, their arms reaching, their knees lifting, their pivots identical. Someone else exactly like themselves but someone completely different, fighting together. Sending the light away so that they could stay in the familiar dark, the only place that would have them both.

The same.

"Twice more."

She knew Bane was next to her, but she couldn't stop to look at him. The only thing that mattered were her moves, the only thing that existed was the feeling of her body working to better itself so that _she _could be better. The sound of their boots hitting the deck echoed every time they would step back, every time they would surge forward. And they would go forward. They would _live_.

"Once more, Camille."

It was then she took him in. It was then she quickly glanced over and saw him as he mirrored her, doing what he had taught her, fighting because it was the only way to get through the days. They were the same. He was her other half.

And then she was done.

Camille stood and panted heavily, let out a loud, long groan as her body trembled after the hour, as her muscles quivered and her hands shook. She had done it. And then she collapsed right onto the deck.

The sun was going down, the sky turning into a lovely mixture of purple and pink. Bane hovered over her, leaned down and set his hands on either side of her. She was breathing so hard she seemed like she was having a heart attack. But they both knew better than that. She was done. The first test was done. He had finished it with her. Right now, it was a great moment.

It wouldn't end that way.

* * *

A few hours later, nestled in bed, Camille dozed in and out of slumber and wakefulness. Freshly clean and fed, she'd slipped on a long, button down black shirt she found in the closet that belonged to the man they'd taken the house from. As a reward for completing Bane's routine, she'd washed her hair and painted her toenails red, handing over the task of cooking to Bane because she felt she deserved it.

Everything hurt. But nothing that wasn't more painful than what she'd been feeling for weeks because of her training. And because everything hurt, because she was so sleepy, she had had to force her dinner down her throat just so Bane wouldn't scold her for skipping a meal again. But she found that she get past that tonight.

This is what she wanted, she thought, running her hands along the white comforter of bed she shared with Bane. Right here, the only thing that mattered right now. Just to lie here and rest, knowing what she'd done earlier, knowing that she could because the day was done and the work was over. For now she could lie here and not move, not think. All clean and off her feet. Camille slowly fell into a deep sleep, felt her limbs relax and her muscles cease to tense. The bed was so comfortable and she was so tired. She just wanted to keep her eyes closed, and never open them again. She wanted so much.

She became half asleep, half awake when bed sunk right next to her, when the covers around her were disturbed and welcoming another body. With her eyes still closed, her chin trembled in disappointment as she felt her legs being bent at the knee and pushed apart. With her hands now placed above her head, Camille felt the fingers that always woke her slowly begin to unbutton her shirt.

Bane sat between her legs, pushed her shirt open in their dark bedroom and let his eyes roam over her pale skin. He snapped the band of her panties against her hips, ran his hands up her stomach and to her bare breasts, cupping them and making her sigh. His mask hissed with his breaths, a sound that was just as normal as any other breathing to her now. A sound that would tell her it was time to stop sleeping, and time to start something else.

She was so tired.

"Bane," she whispered, trying to bring herself out of sleep completely so that she could try and tell him how she was feeling. But she hardly had any energy. She felt she could hardly even speak. "Bane, please…"

"Hush," he whispered back, rubbing his hands into her breasts, growing hard at her thigh. "Just relax."

She let out another deep breath, shook her head slowly. "I'm so tired. Please, I'm so very tired."

"You don't have to move."

Camille could feel his naked erection on her now, wondered how on earth a man could be so needy. His arousal used to bring her pleasure, used to excite her when she would feel it against her. Now, it was just something that kept her awake, something that tore her away from rest. Her chin quivered, she felt that she might actually cry because she was so exhausted. She just wanted to sleep. "I can't… I'll ride you in the morning. I promise."

"I want you now." Bane pulled her arms out of the sleeves to her unbuttoned shirt, slid her panties down and off her legs. His erection throbbed on her lower stomach, beckoned her awake, opening her eyes so that she could stare up at him. His body was perfect and he wanted her.

_She was so tired_.

"Just hold on to me," he told her.

Bane pulled the blankets over their lower halves, leaned down so that she could do what he said and wrap her arms around him, one arm hooked around his neck, the other around his waist. She was too tired to argue with him, too defeated now because she had to give him what he wanted. And when he slid inside of her, when she felt that great length push and fill, she prayed that it would be quick, that he would be just aroused enough to come without much effort.

But, of course, it took him a while because his appetite was so large.

Camille breathed deeply against him, continued to hold him as he rocked his hips on her, stared off into the distance as she tried to think of something to arouse her enough to get her to come so that he could, and finally go to sleep. But she was so tired, and it was a hard thing to do. Bane had his face in her neck, scratching at the skin there with his mask as he groaned deeply, as he satisfied himself with her body because she had no strength to do it for him. After a while, his pushes became more sporadic, telling her that he was close. He would pump into her quickly, stop for a moment and then continue slowly, repeating the process over and over, holding her thighs against his sides as he did so.

She knew what he was waiting for. The thing that would always finish him off was her own orgasm, the feeling milking him just enough so that he could come. Camille wondered if she could just tell him to do what he needed to finish, no matter how hard or fast it would be, just so that he could be done and she could go back to sleep. She hated that she felt this way, but she could barely keep her eyes open, could barely rest peacefully now without waiting for him to wake her up again the next night and the next night. Bane moaned against her neck again, stopped his hips for a moment before pumping firmly into her. Waiting, waiting, waiting.

Camille hated this, hated that sex was now so hard because she was so tired. She wanted Bane satisfied but she had to go to sleep or she would burst into tears. But she needed to come to make him come. So she did the only thing she could think of.

She tried to fake it.

Bane suddenly stopped his hips, stopped everything and remained still. Camille let out a surprisingly nervous breath, caressed his skin so that she could soothe him and convince him that it had been real. But when he lifted his face to stare down at her, she felt like flinching back. When she looked up at his glare, she swallowed softly and realized she made a very big mistake. The silence in their bedroom became deafening, his glare heating her skin from his anger. And he was still hard.

"You would dare to try that with me?"

_A very big mistake_.

"Bane—"

His body snapped up, his cock still throbbing inside of her, his glare never faltering. "Are you having a hard time, Camille? Do you need a little extra help?"

Camille looked up at him, and didn't see her lover. She saw only her trainer now, glowering down at her. And he was making that angry face that told her she was going to be punished. It had never worked before to convince him otherwise. It most definitely would not work now. "Bane, listen to me—"

"If you will not come for me willingly then you will not come until I say you can." Bane pulled himself out of her body, ignored her as she tried to talk to him again and flipped her onto her stomach. He got up onto his knees, held her chest down and pulled her hips up into the air. He angrily brushed the blankets off their bodies, quickly lunged his hand forward onto her back to hold her down when she tried to move. Taking her wrists with his other hand, he forced them behind her back, holding them there and snarling. "And right now, I say you _can't_."

Camille winced when he shoved himself inside her from behind, her eyes widening from his sudden hard and fast thrusts. Fully awake now, she was regretting her decision to deceive him as he held her down, her hands behind her back and the rest of her so uncomfortable from his weight on her that she didn't know what to do. He fucked her now like an animal, grunting and groaning, his mask violently hissing at her for her foolishness. Camille whimpered, felt her body being forced up and down on the bed from his strength, felt his fingers dig into her and not care at all. She had felt this power from him once before, the night he had fully accepted that Talia al Ghul had never loved him, and had used her to slake that rage. But now she was the cause of it. Now, she was being punished.

She thought he was stupid, he told himself, moving his hand from her back and into her hair to tighten forcefully in her curls, an act that usually calmed him but only fueled him on now. She thought he was so stupid that he wouldn't know the difference between an act and the real thing. Oh, but he knew, Bane thought, pounding into her and now making her squeal. How dare she try that.

Bane felt her tightening around him, the slick wetness that usually drove him crazy coating him completely. But he wouldn't let her end now. She would suffer. She would beg him to let her finish by the time he was through. He stopped his hips, heard more whimpers from her.

"Not yet, _darling Camille_," he mocked, starting back up with his motions when the moment passed him by.

And it continued like that for the longest time. He was torturing her, torturing himself, turning the whole thing into a disaster because she had made a bad choice. Camille was uncomfortable, and he was unforgiving. But he wouldn't stop. He wouldn't allow her to deceive him that way again.

"Please…" she moaned, feeling raw, feeling used up and done.

"Not until you beg."

"Please, just stop." She tried to pull her hands free, wondered when exactly it had come to this between them. But his strength held her down, his body pinning her and leaving her unmovable.

_When had it come to this?_

Bane moved her hands from behind her back, set them above her head and made her grasp the sheets. He kept his hands on her wrists, grasped at her hair with his other hand and thrust into her recklessly. Never again would she pull something like that on him. Never again would she have to. Bane made her come so hard that she shook, whimpering loudly and burying her face into the mattress. And with a few more hard, long pushes, he moaned and spilled inside her, and ended it all.

She remained motionless as he gasped and panted behind her, as he continued to hold her in place while coming down from his high. When he wouldn't move away, she shook his hands free from her body, reached behind her and forcefully pushed him away. Suddenly too exhausted to resist, he fell onto his back next to her with a grunt.

Camille instantly got up and went straight into the bathroom, closing the door and locking him out. In the dark, she sat on the edge of the large tub, naked and flushed, smelling of him and filled with his release.

She felt like she could cry. But she held it in.

She started the shower, cleaned herself up again and let the boiling hot water beat down on her skin. She had already been clean, but she didn't want to go back into the bedroom just yet. She just wanted to be alone. Bane was most likely asleep now, and she just wanted to be alone.

Alone and exhausted.

After she dried herself off, Camille turned off the lights and opened the door, walking back to her bed naked and sitting on the edge as Bane slept away, snoring. It was sound she never knew he made until he started waking her up all the time, since she was the restless one who slept like the dead. But that was before. That was before all of this. His snoring used to comfort her at night. She couldn't help but feel that it still did, still sounding oddly calming to her even after everything. She looked back at his sleeping face, wondered if she would still leave the world for him.

His hand reached out, landed on her back softly. He stirred some in sleep and felt for her, tried to bring her closer. She'd never seen him do something like that before, had always assumed she was the one who reached for him. Bane stirred some more, Camille scooted back and pulled the covers over her body next to him.

"I'm here," she murmured emotionlessly, allowing his hand to wander into her hair, just like it always did. "I'm here."

She used to relax completely next to him. Now, she was too exhausted to even go back to sleep. She stared up at the ceiling, felt sick, felt so sick because she was so tired. She asked herself for a second time, would she leave the world for him again?

Camille looked at his face, accepted him, accepted the situation because she knew the answer. Of course she would.

But her desire was gone. Her lust, nowhere to be found. And she needed it back.

Maybe next time.

**TBC**

**A/N: Life is hard, isn't it? Life is so hard that it gets exhausting actually living it. Thank you for the reviews, my darlings. I need them to keep me going, and you most certainly do. Leave me a comment to make life just a little bit easier, and I will try to do the same for you with my words, to give you that escape. **


	5. Lithium

_**Amaranthine**_

**Chapter 5**

**Lithium**

"_Darling, I forgive you after all. Anything is better than to be alone. And in the end I guess I had to fall. Always find my place among the ashes." – Evanescence _

That same night, the clock struck midnight and the phone rang. First it was ignored because he'd been sleeping, then further ignored after he woke up. But when the ringing wouldn't stop, Bane reluctantly got out of bed naked and went to answer it. Usually when the phone rang, they didn't bother with it. Most of the time it was someone the previous owner knew, someone who couldn't know that he'd been forced out of his own home by the hand of a mercenary. But when the phone would continue to shrill, over and over again, they knew it was one of Bane's men that needed to speak with him about something.

During their time in India, Bane would still work with his mercenaries, still go on missions that didn't take very long to assist them, and collect payment. Camille would still do her training during the day, and would never be without him for very long in the night before he would come back home. She used to hate how thoughts of wishing him gone for just a couple of days would fill her mind, just so she could sleep a little. Just so she could be by herself and relax for once. But he was never gone for that long, and would continue to wake her.

His men needed him now. Needed him because one of their contacts in France wanted to terminate partnership. . Bane would be there to regrettably tell them that that wasn't a choice, possibly punish them for trying to get out of a contract, and be home in time to continue training. After hanging up, he went back to the bedroom to dress. In the closet, pulling on his pants, he quickly glanced at Camille, noticed her curled up in a ball on the far edge of her side of the bed. Her face was snuggled down into the covers, her limbs held in against her body underneath the white comforter. Not bothering to be quiet because Camille always slept like the dead, he pulled on a black shirt, his boots and various braces that kept his body comfortable.

Bane wasn't annoyed that he was being taken away from his bed. He'd never been one to consider sleeping a right, but something almost like a reward. And because he was still somewhat angry, he didn't want to go back to sleep. Camille had a bad habit of sweeping things under the rug when it concerned herself, and because he was leaving, because _he _wasn't one to ignore problems like she was, he sat on the edge of the bed, and decided that he couldn't leave without having some kind of conversation.

He knew she wasn't sleeping. He could always tell when she was. A blind person could tell when Camille was sleeping. Restlessness like hers came with the inability to remain still during sleep. She was always tossing and turning, always maneuvering herself into some weird position to try and get comfortable, always grabbing at him in the middle of the night because her body knew he was there. Sometimes she talked in her sleep, sometimes she shook because of a nightmare. But she was never still. She was never in one place on the bed for long. Laying here like this, in a tight little ball, did not equal sleep when it came to her.

She was awake.

"I have to leave for a few hours," he told her, the wheezing sounds of his mask the only one in the room.

Camille didn't move, wished she could scoot just an inch away. Wished she didn't feel like she needed to. "Okay."

He stayed quiet for a few moments, refused to move, refused to think that he was being dismissed by her with that one word. "I can't tell you when I will return, but you are to shoot the rifle in the morning and continue with your combat training until I arrive home."

"I know what to do."

More silence, and nothing else. No questions, no smiles, no kisses goodbye. She still remained under the covers, still kept her face hidden, still remained lying on her side and not making any move to face him. But he couldn't keep quiet. Couldn't allow her to simply forget what she had done. "We will discuss what happened right now."

Still no movement. "There's nothing to discuss."

"There is plenty to discuss when you try to fake the pleasure I give you."

He heard her take a deep breath, watched as she maneuvered herself some so that her head wasn't completely under the covers. From what he could see of her face, it was flushed, her black hair standing out against the stark white of the blankets, and her lips stained from her dark lipstick the day before. She was quiet for a moment, and then answered. "You think that was pleasurable?"

"You enjoy it rough. Just like me."

Camille had wondered how he couldn't know how much he was exhausting her, how much pleasure was becoming so hard and tiring. But while speaking to him now, at the anger she could sense still sizzling from his body because she had tried to fake her orgasm with him so that it could be over sooner, she realized that he really didn't know. And possibly couldn't understand. She wasn't Bane. She wasn't perfect. And he didn't understand. She didn't want to talk about this. She just wanted him to leave. So she kept her head rested on the pillow, still avoiding his gaze, and allowed him to believe that she was the one who had messed up. But he didn't move off of the bed.

"And so the pouting begins."

She closed her eyes. "I'm not pouting. I don't pout."

He could have laughed at the old argument. "And now you are lying. Again."

Camille kept her head above the covers, and couldn't stop the frown. It had been a very bad idea to try to fake it with him. What had she been thinking? What made her think she could do something like that with someone who knew her body so well? She had just wanted to sleep. She had just wanted to have him satisfied, because something deep inside her couldn't bear to deny him anything. And because Bane was still a man, because he still had that ever annoying male ego, he couldn't see that she'd just been trying to please him. The only thing he could register was that she had tried to fake it, that she had tried to lie and deceive him. It exhausted her even more. It made her feel like she wasn't doing right by him in many ways. He had been so rough and she so very tired and uncomfortable. And he didn't care.

"Just go," she whispered.

Bane stared at her, thought maybe she would give more of a fight. But when she didn't, when he had seen the frown drag at her lips, he sighed and figured something else was going on here. He would find out, soon. But right now he had to leave. Right now he didn't think she would communicate very effectively. Something settled on his chest, something he didn't want to think about because it was so unlike him. He looked at Camille, took in her frown even more, and remembered what had happened just a couple hours before. Those two little words whispering past her lips made something squeeze inside him. So he lifted a hand, placed it on the curve of her waist as he sat next to her. Tried to ignore her very soft flinch. "Did I hurt you?"

Camille stared at the wall, hated how his hand felt like it weighed a million pounds on her waist. "No."

She was lying again. Bane reached for the blankets, began to pull them away from her hips. "Let me see."

She moved to avoid his hand, sat up further on the pillows and scooted away just a tad. "Bane…" She slowly shook her head, felt that she couldn't bear to look at him now. "I'm fine. I promise. You should go. It's a long drive to town."

"They are picking me up so I don't have to drive."

She looked at the wall as the soft glow of headlights illuminated from outside. Pulling her arm out from underneath the covers, she set it on top. His men knew better than to come in the house at this hour. She was naked anyway. "Your ride's here."

"I can care less if they wait."

She became quiet again, refusing to look at him, refusing to make any move to help the situation. And she was very upset. Bane could tell, had known something was bothering her for weeks now. The reason why she was less aggressive, the reason why she'd slowed down when he would close the door at night. But when it came to her own problems, Camille always clammed right up. He would possibly have to fight her kicking and screaming to get what was bothering her out and in the open. And he would, because he couldn't take this sadness again. He couldn't let her sink. And he couldn't leave now without bringing up one more thing that she had ceased doing.

"You don't kiss me anymore."

Great, she thought, feeling terrible. Another thing she was doing wrong. "I _can't_ kiss you, Bane."

"That is not what I mean and you know it."

There had been a time when Camille would always kiss him somewhere, because she couldn't kiss his mouth. A time when he was always wiping little colored imprints in the shape of her lips from his skin because she would forget that her mouth was constantly painted. He would treat it like an annoyance, but found that the absence of those pouty marks seemed oddly strange. Lately, she had stopped completely. And he didn't like it at all.

"Kiss me goodbye," he told her softly.

Camille sighed and frowned again. How could she say no to that? How could she ignore his request while knowing what it meant to him? Since she'd been his psychiatrist so long ago, she knew almost everything about him. Knew what had went on concerning him during Gotham's revolution, and Talia al Ghul's part in it. She knew, that in the last moments they ever saw each other, Bane had desperately wanted Talia to do something other than what she did before she died. Maybe he had expected a kiss. Maybe he had expected a confession. But he hadn't gotten either. And now he was asking her.

She wouldn't be like Talia. She wouldn't treat him that way.

Quietly, Camille reached for his hand that was still upon her waist, and lifted it to her lips. She kissed his fingers, kissed his palm. Suddenly felt so very sad because she missed him, missed the way they used to be before she was so tired and… almost resentful of him. She hated herself for feeling that way. He was doing so much for her and she was crying about it just because he never let her sleep, just because he used her body every night and made sex just another job. But she couldn't let it go, and yet she still missed him. And because she did, so very much, she placed his hand on her cheek, closed her eyes, and tried to remember different times. Tried to remember when they'd been actual friends, and great lovers. Now she was too tired, now he was too demanding.

It may never end, but she still couldn't leave him.

He brushed his thumb over her lips. "Camille."

Quickly she kissed his wrist, and released his hand. "Be safe," she whispered, and closed her eyes before snuggling back underneath the blankets.

Bane stared at her hair because he could no longer see her face, and sensed something that oddly felt like tension in their bedroom. Something was wrong. Something was making him uncomfortable. But he had to leave. After lifting himself from the bed, he stopped, felt maybe he should do something else.

But as quiet as a shadow, he left Camille all alone.

* * *

Something was on his mind. Something was bothering him. Barsad could tell, could tell by the irritation set between his leader's eyebrows, could tell by the heat radiating off of him and tensing everyone else up like knots. When Bane was content, they were all content. When Bane was annoyed, they all froze and avoided him. And he was definitely annoyed.

While driving back to his home in India after the meeting with their contacts, Barsad had a pretty good idea who the cause of it all was.

It was just history repeating itself, he thought with disgust. Just another woman coming to torment him, torment them all, and nothing was being done. Barsad knew what Bane was doing with her all these months in India. He knew he was training her, teaching her their ways so that she could be useful and functional in their world. And he didn't like it at all, because if history was repeating itself, then they were all doomed.

He couldn't stand for that.

Barsad knew what had transpired between them while the rest of their crew had been stuck back in Gotham City. He knew she had retrieved Bane from the pit, freeing him and returning to them their leader, the new Demon Head. But it didn't matter. He didn't care. Something else was going on and it wasn't good. Even if that woman did learn their ways and was able to do the job, it still wouldn't be right. And sooner or later, they would all be taking orders from her, and Bane would punish any of those who did otherwise. Just like before.

While thinking of that, Barsad remembered how a long time ago when she'd been the prisoner instead of the lover, he'd pulled her away from the rat within their circle that had come to execute her. The Italian Mob hadn't been pleased when Bane's little whore had refused to take him out because she was the closet one to him, and had almost suffered the consequences. And he'd stopped it. He had taken her ankles and yanked her away from her attacker himself.

Barsad regretted it immensely.

He pulled the truck up to Bane's home, wished for another chance when he could make the right decision. For all of them.

There would come a time, soon.

Bane gave them orders, told them he wanted to keep a close eye on their friends in France, and slammed the door as his men drove off.

After business had been taken care of, he still couldn't shake the annoyance that Camille was causing him. He didn't like sitting around, thinking about what could be wrong and how it would be fixed. He'd already done that once, when she had fallen into a deep depression over her ex-husband, and it was equally terrible now. Squinting from the bright afternoon sun, Bane refused to think of it any longer. He was tired of trying to get her to fight off the depression that would sneak back into her life at times. If she wanted to stay upset over something, then he didn't care. He would just continue on as usual, training her and molding her, turning her into something useful and dangerous because he had to. Disciplining her because she needed it.

A slight annoyance he could handle. He'd handled far worse. But when he walked into the kitchen and saw her, his eyes widened in fury. His fists tightened as he stared.

Apparently he wasn't disciplining her enough.

With equally wide eyes Camille stared back, her bright pink mouth open and almost closing around the plump, chocolaty first bite of an éclair. Everything she wasn't allowed to eat all rolled into one dessert, everything that was so delicious and _not_ rice or chicken or water. She hadn't known when he was coming home. She had been so sad earlier and had just wanted one little bite. She couldn't remember when she'd eaten anything other than the foods Bane had limited her to. And now she was in big trouble. Again.

She thought maybe she should run. She thought maybe she should just shove the whole thing into her mouth in one bite. Maybe she should do both of those things. Instead, she sighed, accepted the situation, and decided that she _would_ have this pastry. No matter what he said.

"We both know I'm quite fond of you," she began, smoothing a hand down her strapless black dress and standing firm, trying not to shrink back from his piercing, and betrayed stare. "But if you try to take this éclair away from me, I will stab you."

His brows rose in sudden amusement. "Stab me, will you?"

"Yes. It's mine. I paid for it."

And just like that, his amusement vanished. "Paid for it," he repeated slowly, took one menacing step closer to her. "You left the house."

Camille knew she wasn't allowed to leave. Bane had given her strict instructions to stay here at all times, telling her that town was way too dangerous for her. A town whose residents wouldn't hesitate for a second to rape her, and then kill her. And for all these months, Camille had listened, had never dared to leave because she knew what he said was true. But because she was feeling the way she was feeling, because she was so very tired of everything, she'd risen from the bed in the morning, pulled on her dress and a jacket, and had taken the keys to the car in the garage so that she could drive into town. "I didn't go far. There was this guy selling them right on the outskirts."

"You left the house," he said again, deep and laced with rage. "You disobeyed me. Do you know what could have happened to you? Do you know what he could have done?"

She felt like maybe she was going to panic. All she knew was that she had to keep her dessert away from him. She didn't care about anything else. But she needed this one little shred of power. "He didn't do anything. Obviously."

"That is beside the point. You left the house. And you dared to bring that into my home." With the target in sight, he approached her even closer.

"Don't come over here. This is mine." He wasn't listening. She backed up until she hit the counter. Nowhere to go. Maybe she really should find a knife and stab him. "If you take one more step I'll eat the whole thing in one bite."

She saw something flash in his eyes then, saw his shoulders relax and his head tilt ever so slowly. His demeanor changed, his gaze almost softened. That unnerved her even more than his anger. With hard eyes she watched him, protected her dessert because she wanted it so badly.

Or maybe she just wanted to do something he didn't want her to do.

"I told you to stay away from me," she warned again when he continued coming closer, feeling completely uneasy by the change in him. She knew those eyes now, she knew that walk. Her gaze narrowed, and tried to read him. "Stop right now."

"Why are you being so cross, darling Camille?" His voice almost seemed to purr at her, low and cool. "I missed you. Let me hold you."

She furrowed her brows, slapped a hand onto his chest when he got too close. He tried to lean into her but she held him back, slowly reeled her arm back that held the éclair so it was away from him. "Apparently you still think I'm stupid."

He remembered the night she had yelled at him for his feelings for Talia, and had accused him of thinking her dumb. He didn't like to think about that night, not only for what she had said when it concerned Talia because it had been the truth, but because that was the night he had hit her face. He ignored her instead. "I only want a kiss, my darling. Then I will leave you alone."

Camille took a deep breath, the conflicting feelings from late last night still making her feel bad because she wasn't giving him those little things anymore. She kept the pastry out of his reach behind her, still held her hand on his chest to hold him back. He was staring at her with those green eyes, those desiring green eyes she loved and hated at the same time. She could smell the musky scent of him, the natural heat from his body making her feel hot. He leaned down, brought his face close to hers. She still couldn't deny him, so she lifted her face, placed her pink lips onto the mouthpiece of his mask to kiss him.

"Such pretty lips," he murmured to her before she even moved her lips away, keeping his eyes on hers as she stared at him.

Something brushed her hand. And before Camille knew it, she was watching him toss her éclair right into the trash bin. With a glare, she removed her lips from his mask, dug her nails into his chest.

His eyes brightened as he smirked at her, not moving an inch and keeping her trapped between him and the counter. "Oh, look," he said cheerfully, holding up his hand and showing her the little smears of leftover chocolate along his fingers from her tossed dessert. "You may suck this off, if you'd like."

"You're an asshole."

He ignored her comment and her glower, looked down at her body instead. Certain memories flooded him. Certain memories of a certain night when she had returned to him long ago. Her black dress was long, strapless, and slit in the side to show one pale leg. He looked back up into her angry eyes, and decided that she still needed to be punished.

"Do you remember when you last wore this dress, Camille? Do you remember that night?"

She didn't want to remember. She just wanted to go away. She knew that she still had to spar with him some more later on, and planned on socking him someplace it would hurt.

"I remember," he said deeply, placing his hands at either side of her on the counter. "I set you free. And then you came back to me. You told me you were cold." And then suddenly, he spun her around and bent her over the counter. "It was the night when you first let me take you this way. You were wearing this dress… and you didn't stop me."

Camille placed her hands on the counter, looked over her shoulder at him. Of course she remembered that night. That night was permanently set in her memory forever. It was the night he first kissed her, the night when sex had happened because they both wanted each other, instead of the very first time when it had been nothing but an odd business deal. The memories tore at her brain too, the only reason why she stayed quiet now.

"I had already taken this dress off of you by this time," he continued, pushing her upper body down a little more so that she would bend further. "But if it would've remained on, I would have lifted your skirt. Just like this."

Camille swallowed softly when he carefully took the skirt of her dress, and began pulling it up. Something she hadn't felt in a long time sizzled below the surface of her skin, something she desperately wanted back but had lost weeks ago because of her exhaustion. She could feel it now, a tiny little inkling. And tried to grab onto it and never let it go again. She could feel her desire returning, her lust so far away but almost within reach. Please come back to me, she thought desperately. Please don't leave. Bane continued talking to her, continued bringing it closer.

"You told me you wanted me. You used to tell me you didn't… But I knew the truth." Bane pulled her skirt all the way up to her waist, spread her legs apart with his knee. He watched as her skin shivered slightly, moved her long black hair over her shoulder so he could see more. "That was… a _long_ night, wasn't it, Camille?"

Before she could answer, she gasped when he slapped her bottom, dug her nails into the countertop when he did it again. She wanted to turn around. She wanted to hit him and pull him closer and scream at him to take her now. She wanted to shove him onto his back and keep him there. This is what she needed. She needed to feel like this again. It was so close. Almost within her grasp, and she would never let it go, never feel unsatisfied ever again. With her desire back she could ignore the exhaustion. To feel this way now for him would make everything she was feeling go right away. Camille sighed, closed her eyes when she felt Bane press his hips right against her, right where she could feel him.

And then suddenly, he moved away. Suddenly, her desire was once again gone.

Her eyes snapped open. She spun around to face him, watched as he walked off, calling to her that she was go to change into her bindings. Camille stared daggers into his back, wished she had something hard to throw at him. It had all been a ruse, all a sick form of punishment because she had left the house and tried to sneak something sweet. But he didn't know, she reminded herself, hanging onto her anger because she had nothing left. He didn't know how she was feeling.

She didn't think she could hold it in much longer. It was only a matter of time before she would explode.

* * *

With her bindings on and her opponent ready, Camille and Bane continued their sparring, continued improving her, continued making him proud with his creation. But only this time it was different. This time, both of them were angry at each other.

She shouldn't have left the house. She shouldn't have tried to ruin the body he was molding with tasty desserts. She had stopped kissing him, stopped being affectionate. She had tried to deceive him with an act. Bane jabbed at her shoulder, pride once again mixing with his anger when she blocked it, and sent her boot to his neck in retaliation.

He didn't understand her. He didn't notice anything wrong. He kept her up all night for selfish pleasure so that he could be satisfied, leaving her completely exhausted, completely drained of everything left inside her. He had denied her the return of her lust for him. He had taken away her éclair, and kept her locked up in this place like the prisoner she used to be. Camille ducked another punch, pivoted and tried to uppercut.

His boot came out of nowhere, hooked her ankle and sent her crashing to the deck.

All of her weight landed right on her wrist as she tried to catch herself.

She yelped, fire instantly screaming up into her hand, up into her arm. "Shit!" she hissed, bringing her hand to her chest to hold it. She squeezed her eyes shut, tried to ignore most of the throbbing that was already hurting her. Her wrist had bent back when she'd caught her weight, pain radiating and sending her already foul mood sky high. "What the hell was that?"

"I've taught you how to land. And that most certainly was not the correct way."

Camille groaned, held her wrist closer and tried to move her fingers as she sat on the deck, brushing back her annoying ponytail. More heat flared when she wiggled her digits, causing her to whimper. "God… Fuck that hurts."

Bane crouched down, reached for her arm. "Let me check it."

"No, don't touch me," she snapped, scooting away and inspecting her wrist herself. She bit her bottom lip as she rotated her hand, making a fist and then releasing it. It really hurt, throbbing and stinging. But she knew it wasn't broken, knew that it wasn't even sprained. She let out a frustrated breath, thought herself stupid for falling so easily and landing the wrong way. She wanted to blame him for tripping her, but realized that she was blaming him for enough. Camille stood, headed for the sliding glass door so that she could get some ice from the kitchen to prevent swelling. That was all she needed to hear. Bane scolding her for getting hurt and not able to train.

As she held the ice to her wrist, she watched the sun go down from the tall windows inside the house. Her internal bomb was ticking. She could practically hear it in her head, soft little clicks that were nearing its end. She had to stop now. She had to go in the shower and end for the night. She had to be left alone.

But of course, she wouldn't be.

She was clean and she was content. With a book held up to her face and her bed soft beneath her, Camille read the words in peace as the stars twinkled outside and the jackal's howled at the moon. Wearing only a large t-shirt and her underwear, she heard Bane fiddling around in the bathroom, kept reading peacefully and trying to forget about the dull throb in her wrist.

She thought the best cure for her feelings now was to avoid him. Of course, she couldn't avoid him completely. They shared a home and a bed, so it was near impossible, especially since she couldn't just leave the house until things smoothed over between them. Camille thought back to just this morning, when she'd been feeling bad about how she was reacting to him. Now she didn't care. Now, she just wanted to be by herself. There was still a tiny little part deep inside her that told her it was wrong, that it was useless because she could never leave him. But she wanted to hold onto the anger more than that. She was nearing the end of her patience. And it was just better for the both of them if she stayed quiet, if she stayed distant. Reading would keep her as both of those things. So she'd searched for a book, making a clear indication to him that she didn't want to be bothered.

Just go back to your reading, she told herself, forcing her eyes to skim the words. Don't think about him anymore. Distract yourself.

She tried to. And then the familiar feeling of the bed sinking around her snapped her out of her command. She looked up slowly when the light seemed to dull, saw him hovering over her, his hands set at either side of her arms, his legs straddling her own. And that gleam in his eye that told her exactly what he wanted. The ticking kept going, kept going…

And then it stopped.

"You're kidding me right now," she said bluntly, feeling the explosion, feeling the heat. "You have got to be fucking kidding me."

"Language, Camille," he scolded, and took the book from her hands to set on the side table. "It is time to begin your endurance training."

She stared up at him, her eyes wide, full of rage, darkening completely as she lost control. She was done. No more. She was tired, her wrist hurt, and she didn't want this. She had no desire left, no strength. She could barely clean herself properly in the shower because of her exhaustion. Now he wanted her again. But she couldn't do it. She couldn't keep going on like this. She was finished. And he didn't know, didn't seem to care, just like he didn't last night. The bomb went off.

"Sorry to disappoint you, _master_, but endurance training is canceled for the night."

"Oh is it?"

"Yes. I'm going to bed. Not sleeping with you, going to bed. I can repeat it some more if you don't understand."

His eyes narrowed down at her. "Is that how you repay me, for all that I am doing for you? I train you each and every day so that you may stay with me, and you would deny me? I have needs, Camille."

"Oh yeah?" she asked him mockingly, lifting her brows and her face closer to his for clarity. "_Fuck_ your needs. If you need to get off so badly why don't you take this," she said, slapping one of his hands. "And go into the bathroom. Works just as well."

Bane's fingers grasped at the sheets underneath her as his own patience started to dwindle. He looked down at her, saw her rage, and wondered how she could be saying these things to him now. She had never denied him before. It was terribly odd to hear it. "You are willing every other night."

Camille gave a condescending laugh, lifted herself onto her elbows so that she could make herself absolutely clear. "Of course I am, Bane. Of course I'll stay up every night to please you. And you don't notice a thing."

He shook his head a little. "I don't know what you are talking about."

"You don't? Look at me!" she yelled, and forced him to.

Bane stared at her face, the face that suddenly became hollow and gray, the face whose eyes were terribly shadowed with dark circles. Her face was always flushed and her lips almost dry, the skin withered and awake. Always awake. Her hair seemed thinner, the sparkle that made her completely female gone with exhaustion, gone away because she could never rest, never stay peaceful. He could see it now. Could see the struggle to get up every day and rise from the bed, the struggle to do what he wanted day and night because he wanted her. Maybe it all made sense now. Maybe, he could understand the outburst she was having. Camille was sleepy. He could see now what it had done to her. She didn't look the same. She didn't look like the woman he thought he was seeing each and every day.

Always awake.

Camille drew in a deep breath, her brows furrowed and her eyes blazing hot. "I'm tired, Bane. I am so fucking tired. So forgive me if I can't please you. My wrist hurts like hell, and I look like shit! All I want," she continued, placing her hands on his chest and pushing him back, climbing off the bed and stomping away. "Is to go to _fucking sleep_!"

She slammed the door, and Bane could only stare.

Finally, he left her alone. Finally she could fall into a peaceful sleep without him constantly waking her up. Camille seethed as she barged into the great living room, snatching a blanket and falling onto the couch, minding her wrist and her aching limbs that could never rest. She had never dared before to leave their bed. She had never wanted to because she'd gotten so used to sleeping with him. But she wouldn't sleep with him tonight. Tonight, she would be alone. Camille snuggled under the blanket, told herself that now she would be content and happy. She didn't need him next to her. She didn't need anything from him. He could go to hell. Camille forced her eyes closed, willed herself to sleep. Finally she could sleep.

She felt wrong. And she hated that she did.

Oh yeah, she thought, hating herself, hating everything. You're ruined, remember? She was ruined, and she could barely sleep without him.

A few hours later, Camille jolted awake, gasped softly as a pair of hands grabbed her, hoisted her up and against something hard and familiar. She whimpered softly, looked up and saw him, saw Bane carrying her and bringing her back where she belonged. She was still so tired after a terrible night of sleeping on the couch, a terrible night of thinking she'd won at something. She frowned, clutched at him, held him close as he shushed her when she tried to speak to him. Bane set her back on their bed, climbed in next to her and pulled the covers over their bodies.

She felt foolish, for so many reasons. Reasons like thinking she could have the final say, reasons like believing that she could make him understand and get what she wanted. And other reasons, reasons like thinking she could now spend one short night away from him while he was so close within reach. She had lost, again. And with a frown, she pulled her t-shirt over her head, reached for him so that she could give him what he wanted.

Bane pulled her hands back down, shook his head. "Sleep."

She was always losing. She could never win. Camille sighed, leaned herself against him for that familiar warmth, and wondered if there would ever be a time when she could best him at something. When she could have him in the palm of her hand instead of the other way around. She was ruined.

And he wasn't ruined without her.

* * *

Early the next morning, Camille was gently nudged awake. She jumped, bolted up in bed and looked around. Bane stared down at her, already dressed for the day and smelling like soap from an early shower. She swallowed to moist her dry throat, forgot the feeling of getting a little more than three or four hours of sleep at night. She couldn't remember the last time it had went beyond that, couldn't remember a night when Bane hadn't satisfied himself with her and simply allowed her to rest.

It still wasn't the appropriate amount of time, she was still so dead tired. But at least it was something.

"Three miles this morning, Camille. I will run with you."

She stared at him for a moment, found her hands shaking for no reason at all. She had said her peace last night. Maybe things would change, maybe they wouldn't. But at least she had told him, harshly, how she felt. Now it was back to training. Now it was back to what had swiftly become their normalcy. Camille gave a small nod, got out of bed and went into the bathroom, closing the door softly so she could shower.

She couldn't keep going on like this, she told herself as she washed her body with her floral soap. She'd thought about it last night, and decided once again that maybe she could handle the exhaustion if only she still desired him the way she used to. The night before last had been a breaking point for her. When she had tried to fake her orgasm, and Bane had forced one on her, she finally felt like she was losing herself to him. And that tore her up inside.

When she'd been married before to Jackson Lane, she had constantly strained herself to please him, just to keep him satisfied because she loved him so very much. But that love had consumed her, consumed her so much that when he finally left her, she had almost crumbled and died. Jackson had been the one to take her away from her family. Jackson had saved her life. And to lose him meant death. But he had never loved her the way she'd loved him. He'd been incredibly selfish in bed, and she could remember the many nights she had ignored her own pleasure so that she could give him his. She felt like the same thing was happening with Bane. Felt that she would just get so used up that he wouldn't want her anymore, especially since she'd been way too tired to contribute to sex for weeks.

Her desire was gone. She needed it back. She needed to want him again. She couldn't bear it if she didn't.

But she had let him have his way with her for far too long. Now she wasn't all that sure what she should do.

Drying herself off with a towel, Camille remembered a time, so very long ago, when they had had sex because she needed to have someone else touch her instead of only her ex-husband. She'd needed to erase Jackson's hands from her body, and Bane had offered himself to do that for her. But afterwards, when she'd thought about it and didn't want a particular outcome, she had confronted Bane and told him that he would never have power over her because of the sex. She had taken control, and had done even more so when she'd come back to seduce him and get what she wanted. Which had been him the whole time. Camille pulled on a black tank top and matching panties, didn't bother with a bra because her bindings would hold her breasts in anyway. She fluffed her long black curls, brushed her teeth, washed her face, creamed her skin. She filled the sink with water, stared down into the faint reflection of her face because every mirror was gone.

Her face was so pale and the shadows under her eyes so dark. She barely recognized herself because she couldn't find herself anymore. She had discovered who she really was with Bane. And now, she was gone again because she was no longer acting like that woman.

She had once told him that he would have no power over her because of sex. She had once told him that she wanted him, had once believed that she could please him as much as he pleased her in bed. But he had completely dominated her, had blew out her flame because she was too tired to keep it lit for him. Camille stared at her face in the water, remembered how she used to be. She used to enjoy sex. She used to have the ability to seduce him and unknowingly get him to do exactly what she wanted him to do.

It was time to get that power back. It was time to show him that he wasn't so strong against her when it came to seduction. This time, she would win. This time he would squirm for _her_.

Camille reached underneath the bathroom sink and into her box of tampons. She pulled out her lipstick, applied the darkest shade of red she had. This was Bane's favorite color on her. And she would use it as a weapon.

Bane sat on the edge of the bed, dressed in his cargo pants and a black wife beater, and waited for her to finish showering. He'd pulled the blinds over the windows of their bedroom to keep it cool since it would be an extremely hot day, keeping the darkness in and the light out. The only light came from the glow in the bathroom, the sounds inside those of his female primping herself as usual. Until finally the door opened. Finally she stood in the doorway of the open bathroom.

But she wasn't moving. And she wasn't ready.

"I believe I told you to put your bindings on for training."

"I'm not training today."

He waited a beat, slowly lifted a brow. "You're not? And what makes you say that?"

"I'm staying in bed all day. And so are you."

Bane linked his fingers together casually, stared at her and decided that it would be round two between them. There was still tension in the air. So much tension that he wasn't sure what to do with it. But he was sick of this acting out. And she needed to remember her place as his pupil. "Is that so? And what will we be doing in bed all day long?"

"What we always do. Whatever I want."

He narrowed his eyes, his anger bubbling again, something that had been going on for a while lately. She was quite foolish indeed if she thought he would agree to something like that. He spoke deeply, keeping his voice commanding and unconvinced. "You assume I will stay in this bed all day to pleasure you?"

Camille held his hard gaze, refused to back down. "I do it for you every night. So yes."

"You are mistaken."

A red haze covered her eyes then. She would have him the way she wanted. He was the one who was mistaken. Her desire still was not with her, but she would take from him because she needed this. This power, this advantage over him because she was so tired of him taking it from her instead. She felt primitive, she felt mad.

She would feel strong.

"I can convince you."

Her words made him give a breathless laugh. "I have had you in every way, Camille. How on earth would you convince _me_?"

"I know how," she said, letting her gaze drop to the mouthpiece of his mask, picturing the lips underneath. "If you just give me a chance."

Bane eyed her closely, remembered all the ways he had had that body of hers, remembered all the places. She couldn't surprise him because he _knew_ her too well. And because she had been so unresponsive in bed lately, he was certain that he would win this round yet again. So he nodded, decided to give her that adorable little chance. But it would be useless. And then they would resume training. "Go on then."

Camille walked forward, kept the light on in the bathroom behind her so that he could see every single thing she would do. Her black curls cascaded down her back and shoulders, so very long and always brushing against him in the night. Her pale skin was clean and soft, her lips that alluring shade of dark red he loved. Her equally black eyes held something, something dark and knowing. Something he would refuse to bow down to. He kept his on hers, a test of will and strength on both their parts. She would know her place. But she would also reclaim the right one. Camille walked right up to him as he continued to sit on the end of the bed, tilted her head at him a little and set out to destroy him completely.

"Do you remember when I told you, so long ago, that you were just a man?" Camille leaned forward, placed her hands upon his hard thighs, her fingers brushing the button and zipper of his pants. She leaned her face closer to his, breathed him in as she moved her mouth closer to his ear. He remained still when she opened his pants, reached inside to feel, to take hold of that great length.

He had felt her hand there before. And he could withstand it. "Yes."

She tugged his pants down a little, set him free and began to touch him, in just the way she knew he liked. "Everyone knows you aren't an ordinary one." Her voice was warm against his cheek. Warm and dangerous. And erotic. "But right now… you will be."

Bane's mask stopped hissing with his breathing when she sank down onto her knees in front of him. And before he could say anything, before he could _do anything_, he felt the hot, wet glide of her tongue against him, and suddenly couldn't seem to think at all.

There had been a time when she had tried to do this for him. But they had regrettably been interrupted by his men. Now there were no men to interrupt. Now nothing could stop her. Camille licked his shaft again, the feeling suddenly causing him to be not so soft anymore. Licked him some more, up his entire length repeatedly, and suddenly he was hard, and craving her.

Talia had rarely used her mouth this way. A few times she had, and those few times had been so very precious. But thinking about the very act made him feel like he'd been neglected. Feeling Camille's mouth on him now, he wondered how he had lived without it. It was indescribable, and he wanted more. Wanted more so badly because it felt so very good. Her breath on him was as hot as her tongue, hot and warm like he knew the rest of her mouth would be. Bane sighed deeply, watched those pretty red lips. He thought he could have withstood anything she would throw at him. But not right now. Right now, he just wanted more.

Camille could have smirked at how he was reacting. But she had a point to prove. To herself, to him. Just so she could know that she wasn't completely submissive to him, that she could send him over the edge easily. But she wanted to hear him tell her this. Just as he'd once forced her to tell him that she wanted him that one night neither of them could forget. Camille ran her hands up his thighs slowly, watched him grow completely hard and aroused for her. She licked him again…

Then made him groan when she set her red lips around him, sunk down as far as her throat would allow her.

And with a frustrated growl deep in his chest, she pulled away. Pulled that lovely mouth away.

"Stay in bed with me," she told him, pumping him softly with her hand, feeling the wetness of her mouth along his great length. "Or I'll stop."

Bane took a deep breath, reached down to run one of his fingers over her lips. "Don't stop."

And then, finally, she won. Now she didn't feel so bad. Now she could please him.

"You want my mouth?"

Bane set his fingertips on her hairline, ran them through her curls. "Yes."

She pulled his pants and underwear down to his ankles, felt in complete control. "Tell me."

"I want your mouth," he answered her huskily.

Camille made herself more comfortable between his legs, and took him in again.

How could she have never done this for him before now? he thought, trying not to respond so much, trying not to lose himself. How could he have lasted all these months without feeling her this way? He'd been wrong. He hadn't had her in every way. There was always this one way, this one way he'd never felt. And it felt so _good_. Her mouth was so hot, so wet and tight. And she was driving him crazy. He had thought he could keep his pride when it concerned this. But lust destroyed pride every time. And he couldn't have fought her off. He moaned when she sucked at him, growled when she used her tongue. Gone was the civilized veneer he kept. He could only feel the beast inside him now. And the scent of her, the feel of her, his mate, was sending his blood to sizzling.

Those pretty lips. His darling Camille.

Bane looked ahead into the nothing as she wrapped her arms around his lower waist, as her head bobbed at a pace that would soon end him. His fisted hands instinctively reached for her hair, grasped at her curls and moved up and down with her motions. His eyes glazed over, his throat groaned again. He couldn't think, could do nothing but live in the moment. This wonderful…wonderful moment. The soft sounds of her sucking mouth were pulling him into oblivion, the pouty lips that had always attracted him working him in a way she'd never done before, a way he hadn't felt in so very long.

Bane's eyes widened and his chest heaved when he felt Camille hum deeply in her throat, the vibrations of her voice shocking him, driving him up, driving him insane. His body hunched, her mouth grew tighter. Her hand began working the base of him as her mouth feasted, devoured.

Destroyed him.

He came then, making a sound that was a mixture between a groan and a growl, a sound that was a dark thrill to her, the fists at her hair a vicious pleasure. His breath heaved, and she watched as his eyes went blind, blind with pleasure, blind with release. Camille removed her mouth from him, reached for a tossed article of clothing from the night before and spit into it. She stood before him, felt her throat burn with unsaid words. Felt the need to be close to him. She pulled off her tank top, watched his seemingly drunk eyes roam over her skin, and pushed him onto his back, appreciating his grunt of pure bliss. She crawled between his long legs to straddle, and had him. All of him.

Somehow, through the insanity ruling him, Bane understood. Not surrender, even after this, after everything. It wasn't surrender she asked for. But acceptance. She just wanted him, just wanted him to understand. And he would. She opened for him, lifted for him. Murmured precious words only heard by him.

Later on, after a long day of pleasing her, a long day of accepting her, he rested next to her as she slept, the hours gone and the moon already shining outside. Lying next to her naked, knowing she was just as bare beside him, Bane turned onto his side, watched her sleep.

There was still tension. He needed for it to go away, needed to find the cause. But hardly any words had been exchanged during the long, hot day she'd asked for. He needed to make it okay between them. He needed to make it okay, and didn't want to think about why he needed to do that. Something was between them. Something that didn't have everything to do with Camille's exhaustion. But she was sleeping now, and he would find out soon enough. He watched her as she lifted her arms, arched her back like a cat, as she sighed deeply before moving again.

She was a pain to sleep with when she did sleep, but he was used to it. So used to it that he didn't think he could sleep peacefully next to anyone else.

Camille sighed again, a little louder this time, with a little hum in her voice that always told him she was dreaming. He continued to watch her in the dark, felt his own need to go to sleep. But that was before she spoke in her slumber. And suddenly he was wide awake.

"Jackson."

Her quiet sigh turned his blood to ice. That one little word, the name of her pathetic ex-husband. After all the hours, all the release. All the take and give that had gone on. And there was that name. Not his, like it should have been. But someone else's. Someone who had been there first. Bane got out of bed, fury raging inside him like blood. And he hated it. That one word. That one name.

_Jackson_.

**TBC**

**A/N: Big chapter, but a necessary one. Only a couple more chapters and then we are back to Gotham, my loves. Ladies, take a page out of Camille's book and seduce your man tonight, those who have one. Unlike me. And don't forget to leave me a review, if only to make me smile. Tell me what you love, tell me what you'd like to see. Tell me everything. I'd love to hear from you. Also, tell me your favorite part from **_**Mercenary**_**, if you can remember. Thank you again, my darlings. Keep making me proud with your comments. **


	6. Come Closer

_**Amaranthine**_

**Chapter 6**

**Come Closer**

"_I want to lay my head down, come closer, come closer. I thought you'd turn to me but… you were turning around. I think I'm losing you, losing you again. Why didn't you stay awhile to say goodbye, my friend?" – Delain_

Camille had never spent a whole day in bed with a man before. Even when she'd been married, and even on her honeymoon, there had always been something to do. Jackson had been terribly busy with getting his name out in the art world, attending gallery openings, and assisting his parents with some fundraiser or another, a world Camille had never known before and had never been able to fit into. And she'd always been busy with the asylum and her patients, making phone calls, having meetings, taking notes for the next therapy session. There were never enough hours in the day, never enough days off that would work out for the both of them to spend a whole one rolling in the sheets.

But now she knew what it was like, had demanded it because she needed to give something back to herself, something she had been missing for a long time now. Bane hadn't wanted to, but she'd successfully convinced him to stay with her, just like she knew she could.

She'd won. Finally.

Waking up the next morning without him next to her, she felt something off. Something not quite right. And wondered, for a brief moment, if she had won anything at all.

What should have been a nice, relaxing day in bed hadn't been that in the least. She assumed that when normal lovers did what she and Bane had done there would've been lovely little naps in between, talking, and simply knowing that the other was right there, resting peacefully beside you. But none of those things had occurred yesterday. There were no naps for either of them, absolutely no talking, and now Bane was gone. Yesterday had only consisted of rough, angry sex, filled with a tension that had yet to leave because both of them were so terribly annoyed with the other for their own reasons. It should have been a nice day, especially for her since she'd gotten what she wanted through the ways of seduction.

But it hadn't been.

She had bitten him too hard on his neck and had made him bleed when she'd sat in his lap. He had bruised the back of her shoulder when he'd forcibly held her down on her stomach again to take her from behind. Their hands had taken, possessed, bruised. Over and over again because they hadn't stopped.

Because they couldn't stop.

Madness had ruled them, an anger they needed to feel because they didn't know what else to do. At one point, she had lied beneath him as he panted, her ears ringing and her mind telling her to stop, stop. Just stop and talk to him, you can't take anymore. But she couldn't think, found that the act was impossible, and had flipped him onto his back instead.

Now, the morning after, as light tried to make its way in to the dark, curtained-off room, she woke without him there.

She stayed where she was for a moment, on a bed that should have been broken, on sheets that were a scrambled mess, and felt an odd mixture of shame and satisfaction. Nothing had been resolved. Things were still the same between them. The tension was still on her chest, still on his too, and she realized that something else had happened. Something that had only added to it all. But she couldn't quite place it yet. Noting the time, she rose from the ropey sheets and went into the shower.

Nothing was fixed. Oddly, she felt like she'd damaged it further.

And… she didn't like that at all.

Bane thought she was denying him. But the only reason why she felt the way she did now was because she _couldn't_ deny him. Bane thought she was refusing to be affectionate towards him. And the only reason for that was because she had lost her desire from her exhaustion.

But Camille needed him. Needed to want him again, needed him there because she didn't know how to function without him anymore. The only reason why she was doing any of this in the first place was so she could be with him, so that he could keep her. She _wanted_ him to keep her.

Things were still wrong. And she didn't know how to fix it.

Camille pulled her bindings on, painted her lips the color of coral, and went in search of him.

She found him pacing in the kitchen, talking on the phone angrily in a language she couldn't decipher, and stood with her hands behind her back as she waited for him to finish.

He was dressed like he always was, in a style that was fitting and completely his own. The black cargo pants hugged his very strong and very long legs, the tan t-shirt above sliding easily over an upper body so full of power that he could take on multiple men at once, men like the Nightwing and the Batman. She wondered how it felt to be that powerful, to be that skilled in the ways of combat he'd been taught so long ago. And now he was teaching her.

Soon, she would have to complete her second obstacle and beat him in a sparring match. Camille knew he would tell her when she would do it, knowing he would never bring up it up if he didn't think she was capable. She thought about her third obstacle, and wondered how it could be harder than taking him on. Bane was the ultimate goal, and would have made the perfect finisher for her training. But even while going through everything with him now, she still trusted him.

He'd been the only one she ever truly could.

Finally he hung up the phone, turned slowly around to face her. She watched as his eyes roamed her face, watched as his shoulders suddenly tensed up. Yes, she thought to herself, noting other little movements on him. Something else had happened, and she didn't know what. Bane looked down, saw her in her bindings and ready for training. Most of the time he had to wake her himself. To see her this way now was a tad surprising.

And for reasons he didn't care to think about at the moment, it infuriated him.

"How is your wrist?" he asked her, bringing his eyes back to hers so that he could calm himself.

Camille looked at her hand automatically, and rotated it to show him. "It's fine. Just a little sore still, but fine." She glanced at the side of his neck, saw the ugly red welt her mouth had left on his skin. "Is your neck okay? I can put something on that, if you'd like."

"What did you dream about last night?"

The sudden question caused her to simply stare at him, made her wonder why on earth it had been asked. She took a deep breath, tried to think if she'd dreamt in the few hours she'd been able to sleep, and came up blank. "Nothing. At least, I don't remember anything."

"You slept well then? You had a lovely sleep, Camille?"

Slowly, she narrowed her eyes, tried to read him. His face seemed emotionless but his voice sounded full of suppressed rage. His eyes were unwavering, but she could tell something like fire was exploding behind them. No, nothing had been fixed last night. Something had been damaged even more than before. "What's wrong?"

Camille could remember, a long time ago, the last time she'd actually been afraid of Bane. It had been shortly after he'd kidnapped her, forcing her to care for his health because he didn't have anyone else handy enough to do it. It hadn't taken her long to get rid of that fear. She knew him pretty well even before she'd been kidnapped, and had gotten to know him completely during her time with him. It had never been that she didn't think he could hurt her or kill her. She had always respected him. But the fear had gone away when a twisted connection had been formed, one they had both tried to fight, and had failed miserably. Fear for him had not travelled through her body in just about a year.

It did now, with that one simple, smoldering look he was sending her way.

Something was wrong, she thought again for the hundredth time. Something was very, very wrong.

Bane took a step closer to her, fisted his hands. "Camille… I _hate_ it when you ask me that."

She thought maybe it was in her best interest to stay quiet. But she couldn't help herself. She was trained to ask, and discover. "Why are you asking me those questions?"

"I see you are in your bindings already," he chirped almost happily, ignoring her and confusing her. Confusing her and worrying her. And he didn't care. "That's wonderful. You can start by running those three miles you were supposed to run yesterday. Before you used your mouth in much more interesting ways then asking me inane questions. And you have twenty minutes."

Something gripped in her chest. Something tight and powerful around her heart. She felt like she was slowly choking. "Bane."

"Camille, you do not want to find out what will happen to you if you neglect to successfully run that distance in the time I've given you. Now go."

And then, something cracked in her chest. She didn't know what to say, didn't know where to begin. She stared at him, felt like she couldn't breathe, and slowly turned around. Away from him. He didn't want her. Just like she feared.

How could things be fixed now? How could she mend this? Suddenly she realized that that was all she wanted. Things to be fixed, things to be okay. Back to normal. Back to the way they used to be before all this nonsense. She wanted him back. All of him.

She feared that she would never have him again.

* * *

The next week had been the worst week of training yet, in all the months she'd been here, learning from him, fighting with him. Being with him. Camille thought she knew exhaustion. But nothing was compared to this, nothing compared to the hell she suddenly resided in because her bond with him was seemingly broken. And she couldn't help but feel that it was all her fault.

Bane had suddenly changed on her. He became even more ruthless than before, even more demanding and hard on her. He yelled at her, pushed her when she didn't do something right, forced agonizing workouts on her simply so he could watch her sweat and suffer. His speed and strength increased whenever he would spar with her, mercilessly taking her down and forcing her to defend.

Camille wondered for a few moments if she was actually defending herself in a real fight with him.

And maybe she could take all of that. Maybe she was used to it, only having to readjust slightly when he changed, when he'd become something other than what she knew. She didn't comment on anything, didn't ask him any more of the questions he apparently hated. She just continued to learn, continued to stay quiet, and continued to fight him. She didn't know what else to do, and decided that it was best for the both of them. Maybe, she would just accept her life as it was now because she had no other choice.

But then he suddenly stopped wanting to be with her intimately, and it completely blindsided her.

At first it had almost been an answer to a strange prayer. She still would have slept with him, but had only wanted to get rest as well, and had maybe wished that it wouldn't be every night. But now he never came to her that way. Now he never even made any gesture or inclination that he wanted sex. He simply slept beside her every night, his back turned to her and his body far away. It should have relieved her.

It bothered her.

Camille had grown so used to bracing for the moment when Bane would wake her in the night that now she couldn't even sleep if he kept to himself. She woke up multiple times in the night, jumping and quickly glancing around the room in confusion, as if her body didn't know what to do with itself anymore if Bane _wasn't _waking her. Sometimes she would gasp herself awake, sometimes she would jolt so badly that she had no choice but to leave sleep.

Bane wasn't wanting sex anymore. And… she still couldn't sleep.

And because something was so terribly wrong, she couldn't even gather the humility to reach for _him_ in the night, if only to give him something he apparently no longer wanted.

When had things become so bad between them? Why did life seem pointless without him, but so hard even with him? Why did she feel like she was married again, and to the wrong man?

Camille didn't know what to do. So she simply endured it all.

No sex. No sleep. No ease in their home. And one ferocious Bane.

Now they were on the deck sparring, Camille wearing her standard black bindings and Bane in pants and a tank top because of the Indian heat. Her long hair was pulled back in a low ponytail, swishing behind her as she dodged left and right, as she swirled and jumped back from flying fists and powerful kicks from the man she was doing it all for. Camille panted as she trained, trying to ignore his still heated eyes, his angry movements. His complete carelessness for her well-being. She ducked, hit, tried to outmaneuver him. But his eyes couldn't keep her away for long, and, as quick as lightning, she glanced into them, felt panic crawl its way into her throat.

She tripped over her own feet, and fell to the ground.

Camille let out a deep breath, blew a loose curl from her eyes. "Sorry."

"These legs," Bane murmured, staring down at her on the deck. Camille felt the urge to flinch away when he suddenly crouched down next to her. And she did when he grabbed her calf in his hard grip. "I am going to _chop_ these legs right off. Out of your entire body, I hate your legs the most. They _refuse_ to strengthen, and only continue to perform clumsily."

Camille frowned at him, pulled her leg away. "I'm trying."

"It is those blasted shoes you wear all the time. They are shortening your calves and hamstrings, making you tight and weak. If your legs cannot perform than _you_ cannot perform. You are just as weak as they are."

She didn't want to fight. Camille found that she no longer had any energy to fight with him. Slowly, she lifted herself from the deck, rolled her shoulders and prepared for another battle. A battle that was raging on the inside and out. "Let's go again."

* * *

A few nights later, as the moon rose in the sky and the wind howled outside with the sand, Camille slept, laying in one of her strange positions she assumed in exhaustion. Her chest rose and fell with her breathing, her hair tickling her face and breezing away with every deep breath she took.

And then she jumped, gasping and reaching for something not there, catapulting herself into wakefulness.

And yelped as she fell right off the bed.

With a groan, Camille lifted herself enough from the floor so that she could pull her arms out from underneath the comforter still around her body, arched her back to crack it and wincing against the pops along her spine. She shook her head to clear it, brushed her hair back, and untangled herself from the confines of her blankets. She looked up, realized that she had been barely an inch away from smacking her head on the end table, and wondered, pathetically, if she needed to install bed rails.

This was the third time she fell off this week.

After setting the comforter back on the bed, Camille sat on the edge, glancing behind for a moment only to see that Bane wasn't there. But it no longer surprised her. It wouldn't even surprise her now if they suddenly started sleeping in separate rooms, just like how it used to be in Gotham so long ago. She looked down at herself, noticed she was wearing a dark blue tank top and her panties, the clothes she'd put on right before she had crawled into the bed for sleep. Alone.

Even before all of this, wearing clothes to bed was something she hardly ever did. Camille had always been more comfortable in just a pair of panties for sleep, thinking clothes to be a nuisance because she tossed and turned so much. And then, after Bane started waking her every night, she always slept naked, or at least would always wake that way because of his needs. Now, for the last week, she was wearing clothes. Even waking in them.

Because Bane didn't want her anymore.

She thought maybe it should have been silly that it was strange to wake in clothes. But the dynamics of their relationship had been something entirely different. This change was a big one, and it was something that puzzled her to no end. With the way they truly were, Camille hardly wore any clothes at all to sleep, or Bane would just end up taking them off of her anyway. Now things had changed, and changed drastically.

Suddenly, she needed to find him, if only to know where he was. And when she couldn't find him anywhere in the house, she knew exactly where he would be. Camille walked outside, felt the gush of cool wind along the desert scape, and spotted him out in the distance.

She knew Bane was given an odd comfort when staring at the night sky, and knew that it had everything to do with his time in the pit. He'd once told her that it had almost been like a promise, like a gateway to another world none of them would ever see again. The sky had been everything they couldn't have, everything they couldn't reach because the prison had been the worst hell on earth. The sky in the day only brought terrible heat and the scorching rays of the sun. But the night, with its stars and its moon and its space, was something else for them. Maybe it had been that hope Bane never wanted to feel again. Maybe it had simply been an escape. But she knew the sky relaxed him, and gave him the time to think, to plan, and to finally be at ease. She used to watch it with him some nights, long ago when they'd been okay. When they had been normal around each other. But that had stopped long ago.

Those nights had stopped along with everything else they used to be to each other.

Camille slowly walked up to him, tried to ignore the sting of the sand along her ankles from the wind, and stood at his side in silence. Oddly, she felt like she didn't know who she was anymore. She glanced at him in the corner of her eye, and wondered what he was thinking about right in this moment.

Bane had heard the door open when she'd come outside, knew she was coming his way from the soft sounds of her footsteps. He had trained her to force her body to move without sound, a quietness that could mean everything when she would finally be a part of his crew. He had even been impressed with how such a surprisingly clumsy girl at times could be so quiet. But because he'd known her before the change, and because he'd been the one to train her on that silence to begin with, he could always hear her coming.

He didn't particularly want her out here right now.

Apparently, when Camille had told him they were the same she'd definitely been speaking the truth. When it came to something that was bothering the other, they wanted to know exactly what was going on. But when it came to themselves, they clammed up completely. Maybe it was pride, a pride so strong that it was now destroying them. Maybe it was shame, because they'd both had a long life of regrets or blindness to certain things. But whatever it was, it was pulling them apart. And even though Bane would force her to tell him what was going on with her when there was something that was saddening her, he refused now to bring up the issue that had caused an anger in him he simply couldn't shake.

If Camille was dreaming about her ex-husband then maybe she wanted to go back to him, wanted to return to that selfish, pompous little boy who had caused such an afflicting depression inside her. And if that was what she wanted, then maybe she _should _go back to him. Maybe she should leave, and stop bothering him once and for all. His chest was starting to hurt, and for that alone he wanted to tell her to leave and never come back to make it hurt ever again. He wasn't going to go through this a second time. He wasn't going to stand here and feel like it was Talia and Bruce Wayne all over again. How dare she say that name after he had pleased her in bed all day long? How could she do this? How could she stand right next to him now, and continue to pretend nothing was wrong?

Why was he feeling like this to begin with? He shouldn't. He was way too strong for this. He was way too strong for her.

Bane felt like he was suffering.

And then she spoke, and made the tightness in his chest constrict him even more.

"You don't wake me up anymore. It's… different."

Bane scoffed and rolled his eyes, refusing to keep the annoyance out of his voice. "I believe you told me all you wanted to do was sleep. Finally you have that and yet you are still complaining."

"I'm not complaining. I'm just… confused." He wasn't looking at her, and Camille knew he didn't even want her around. But still she stayed, because she oddly didn't want to leave him out here by himself. "Is there a reason why? I don't want to bother you with questions. I only want to know… why you're so upset with me."

Because you tried to deceive me. Because you want someone else. Because you make me feel what I don't want to feel. "It could be possible I no longer want you."

Camille looked up at the sky with him, the vast black sky sprinkled with a billion stars, and realized that that was the worst thing anyone had ever said to her. After the life she had, after the past with an abusive family and a cheating, manipulative ex-husband, even after self-mutilation and a mild addiction to depression pills, never had she heard anything more cruel than that. She hoped to God that it was just the effects of what was bothering him and not how he really felt. She was a psychiatrist after all, and should remember these things. But to hear it now broke her heart. "I'm sorry you feel that way."

So many things going on inside him, and now something else. Camille was always doing that to him, always making him feel things he had no business feeling anymore. Emotions like this should have been over for him the night he finally came to terms with his relationship with Talia. They should not be continuing with this woman now. This woman who thought she could do the same thing to him, make him feel things like… Things he didn't even want to think about. The wind gusted again, sent the smell of her to him, that feminine smell that had always attracted him. He could perfectly picture her face as she stood next to him. He knew exactly how she was feeling after what he'd just said to her. His chest constricted again, and pulsed with hurt and something he would refuse to think of as guilt.

"Sometimes I really hate you," he murmured, and watched a shooting star fly by all the way up in space.

Camille calmly looked over at him then, at the large shape of him that was a weapon all on its own. This was the man who had kidnapped her so long ago. This was the man who had threatened her, yelled at her, and had even hit her once upon a time in rage. And this was also the man who she had left everything for. The man she couldn't live without. The man that had become everything. She could hate him for those things too. She could understand him perfectly.

"I know you do," she answered softly, and desperately wanted to touch him.

The howling wind picked up. And when Bane felt the soft brush of her hair along his arm, he felt that he could almost flinch. He couldn't look at her, couldn't stare at that sad face right now. He couldn't touch her, couldn't run his hand along the lifeline that had become her curls. He didn't want this. He didn't want this part of what she had become to him. He forced himself to keep his eyes away, commanded himself. Ignored himself when he slowly turned his head, and looked into her eyes as black as the sky above them. _Sometimes I really hate you._

_I hate you for making me feel this way. _

Bane quickly looked away, and felt the bug underneath his skin that had become her effect on him. "You will fight me tomorrow," he told her, distracting himself and already planning in his head so that he didn't have to remember what her face had looked like. He didn't want to think about it at all. Couldn't, because he would refuse to.

Camille nodded, took a deep breath and tried to fight off the pressure that was building behind her eyes. She wouldn't cry. She wouldn't dare to cry in front of him now. She didn't want to leave him out here, but she had to get away. Just in case. But before she left, she turned to him, looked up at him even though he avoided her gaze. "I told you I wouldn't leave you," she reminded him, and took a giant risk when she placed her hand on his arm softly. "I meant it."

She walked away from him, felt the desperate need to run but held it in. She wouldn't leave him.

She couldn't.

* * *

The next morning, Camille shimmied into her bindings, the black strapless band around her chest squeezing against her breasts and keeping them in and out of the way. She tied her hair back, applied dark purple lipstick, and decided that it was now or never. She would fight Bane. She would give him all she had, and hopefully win, taking one step closer to success.

She felt that she had already failed a long time ago.

A little while after she'd left him to stare at the sky last night, he had crawled into bed next to her, turning away as usual and keeping his hands and everything else to himself. Camille had woken up twice more in the night, once in a sweat and the other because she'd had a nightmare. He had made no move to comfort her, no acknowledgement whatsoever. He had only continued to sleep on, until the morning came and he'd risen before her. How could that have become routine now?

She hated this routine.

"Camille!"

She jumped when he yelled for her, quickly slipped on her boots before scurrying outside onto the deck where he was waiting for her. The day was hot and extremely sunny, the rays from the bright orb above heating the sand enough to burn skin. She was thankful that she wouldn't have to go out in it. Or at least for right now she didn't. Who knew how her trainer was feeling towards her today. She looked to him, waited for him to give his instructions.

"Today you will begin with your second obstacle. And that is to make me submit using everything I've taught you in combat. If you succeed, you will move on later to the third. You are to use whatever means necessary to accomplish your goal. You will have to use your body and your mind to its fullest advantage to beat me. And I will not hold back on you," he said lowly, waiting for her nod of understanding. "You are to do the same with me. Take me down, make me surrender. And victory is yours."

Camille stared at him, standing there with his great height, and couldn't believe she was about to do this. But he had trained her himself. She was only here now because he had helped her along the way. Even after everything that was going on between them, she wouldn't be doing this now if he didn't think she was capable. She was becoming stronger, better. And she didn't want to lose. "Bane," she began, swallowing a little and knowing he was still so very angry. And for reasons she didn't know. "Thank you for doing all of this for me."

Bane clenched his jaw, wished she'd never said anything. Now his armored vest felt like it was suffocating him. Now he felt like the temperature had suddenly risen to sweltering heat. But he had to ignore it. He had to ignore her, because he couldn't take it. And the only way he could was to take a giant step forward.

And attack her.

Camille jumped a little, almost lost her footing from his sudden movement, but sidestepped and blocked his oncoming fist. She sent a knee to his side, pivoted and braced for his speed and his strength. Her bindings squeezed against her skin, the hem of her tight leggings digging into her waist. She minded her legs carefully as she blocked him, tried so very hard not to fall or trip over her feet again. She successfully punched at his chest and his side, felt the jolt all the way to her elbow from his hard clothing. But continued on because she had to. Continued on because this was just another test that Bane had trained her for all this time. She couldn't disappoint him, couldn't bear to see him angry with her because of failure. He already didn't want her and possibly hated her. She would not allow him to feel that his time with her had been wasted.

She would prove herself to him, because she had nothing else left.

Camille scurried back, noted the way his feet moved as they charged her. She had to use her mind and her body to win. She had to come up with a plan to take him down. Camille ducked quickly to avoid his arm, leaned her body over and sent a high kick to the back of his head. He fell forward just a little, but sent his own boot to her stomach. She tried grabbing his ankle but he was too strong, almost sending her onto her back and possibly out for the count. But she righted herself, amazed herself that she had not fallen. And felt the shocks of adrenaline, the intense drive to win, and win spectacularly.

Deep down inside, she reached for the strength there, the strength that had surprised others, and even herself at times. She needed it now, needed it to beat him. She had to think of him as an enemy out to hurt her. She had to believe that if she didn't win this fight that she would die. She found the strength, fisted her hands, and gave him everything she had.

Block, punch, hook, uppercut. It was the perfect line-up, just the way he'd taught her. Jab, jab to the midsection, furious backhand to the head. She tried everything. She spun, she dodged, she ducked and used her blocks to her advantage. But nothing was bringing this large man down. Nothing was winding him in the least. She had to think, and think hard. Mind your form. Mind your legs. Mind your surroundings. She repeated it over and over in her head, tried not to fall again when he jabbed at her chest and sent her back. She needed something. She needed a weakness. Camille twisted her body to avoid his kick, sent her knee into his hamstring.

His only weakness. She knew what it was.

She just needed her opportune moment.

It felt like an eternity. It felt like she would continue this way forever with him. She could only mostly block him, move her body to avoid his blows, and hopefully get a shot in between. She surprised herself when she got about four jabs into him at once, and spun around quickly to avoid his grab at her. Her hair whipped at him during her turn, stinging his eyes and causing him to squint.

Right there.

Camille threw two hard hooks into both sides of his head, sidestepped and sent another high kick into the back of his head yet again. He leaned just like before, she was almost there. Her target was right within sight.

She was thrown back when he grabbed her tight bindings, tossed her away from him.

But she wouldn't lose. She would have her victory. She would show him.

_She would be better for him. _

Camille ran forward, spun again to sting him with her whipping hair, sent a flying backhand when she rounded on him. And before he could grab her, before he could easily toss her away, she jumped onto his bent thigh with one foot, launched herself onto his back with a speed she didn't think she was capable of. Wrapped her legs around his waist, grabbed her target, pressed.

Bane suddenly became very still when his mask was released of its tight hold around his face, just hanging there as Camille held onto the latches to keep it from falling away completely. And because he felt a slight panic that his source of life would be taken from him again, he remained still…

And lifted his hands in surrender.

Camille panted heavily, let out a breathless laugh. She felt like she could scream. She felt like she could sing and dance. Calmly she latched his mask back together, made her sure it was secure before dropping onto the floor.

And let out a loud whoop in victory.

"Oh my God, I did it!" she cheered, fist pumping the air and jumping up and down in glee. "I did it, Bane! Oh wow… I can't believe it! Did you see me? That was… so hard, but so great. Ha!" She hugged herself, squealed a little more before turning to him. She smiled brightly at him, in a way he'd never seen before. She lifted her hands out to him, forgetting everything and just wanting to hold him. She only wanted him.

Bane simply stared at her, and couldn't bring himself to move forward into her embrace. All he could hear was the one word he'd been agonizing over. He couldn't celebrate with her because he was suffering.

_Jackson_.

He couldn't go to her.

Camille's smile dropped when Bane turned around and began walking away from her. She watched him go for a few moments, dropped her hands in disappointment. Something flooded her. Something that was killing her. And she could no longer take it. She surged forward, followed him because everything had been so very wrong. It needed to be made right. She needed him.

She couldn't let what they had die.

"Bane," she called, following him at his heels as he stormed into the house. "Bane, stop. Please." She grabbed his arm, bolted back when he rounded on her.

"I would advise you not to touch me right now."

She felt like she didn't know him anymore. And it killed her. "Please tell me what's wrong. Please."

"I don't want to talk to you."

She shook her head a little, tried to think. Tried to understand. But she couldn't, because she felt like she was no longer close to him. "What is going on, Bane? Tell me please. Why are you being this way? Is it because of the sparring?"

"No," he answered darkly, his anger pouring out of him like sweat, his glare causing her heart to burn. "I am this way now because of you. This is all your fault."

"My fault," she repeated softly, and felt terrible. She knew she'd been doing wrong by him. And now he was done. "Because… because I haven't been affectionate to you? Because I don't kiss you anymore, like you said?"

"No."

"Then _why_?"

"Because you still long for that pathetic ex-husband of yours!" He roared it, couldn't stop himself. He only wanted her to go away. He only wanted for her to go away and never come back. Never make him feel like this again. "Because you sigh his name in your sleep like the lovesick puppy you used to be. After a whole day with me, Camille, you would dare to think of him?"

She could only stare at him. She didn't know what else to do. She would have been less surprised if he'd smacked her again. But this was completely different. This was unimaginable. And she was so confused. "I don't understand."

"Do _not_ play those games with me. I am _not_ an idiot. Now everything makes sense, Camille. Now I understand why you have kept yourself distant, why you have turned away from me."

"You…" She shook her head again, tried to make sense of this nonsense. "You think I still love Jackson?"

"You said his name in your sleep after the day I so graciously gave you. You have been thinking of him." He saw the confusion on her face, and discovered he had no patience for it. "Do not lie to me. Have you been thinking of him?"

Camille didn't think she could take any of this. She wanted to just turn around and not have to have this conversation. But things had been too bad for too long. And she needed more answers. She thought of how she'd been feeling before Bane had changed on her. She remembered her thoughts, and knew that a certain someone had entered her mind. "Yes."

"Oh good!" he said cheerfully, his mocking smile making her frown. "Finally I get somewhere with you. And now I know the truth."

"It's not like that."

"It's not? I would ask you to enlighten me, but I'm afraid I no longer care what you have to say."

"Stop it!" she shouted, exasperation filling her chest. "I don't love Jackson, Bane. I don't care about him at all. I don't know why I said his name, I honestly don't remember anything. But I have been thinking about him. But only because of you." Her frown suddenly formed into her own glare, and suddenly she could no longer stay quiet. "The only reason why I thought of him was because you were completely ignoring how I was feeling. I was exhausted, Bane, and you didn't care at all. You were just using me, just like he used to do."

His eyes narrowed dangerously. "Do not compare me to him."

"Why not?" she asked harshly, no longer caring about his anger. Only able to feel her own. "Just lie back and take it? Is that what you wanted me to do, Bane? You were running me ragged. I couldn't sleep because you were always waking me up for selfish pleasure. Just like Jackson would do. And that is the _only_ reason why I thought of him. I'm sorry if it damages that ego of yours, but I didn't particularly like it when you would wake me up to _fuck_ me and then roll over and go to sleep, leaving me awake and exhausted."

His hands fisted, his eyes wishing for her to burn. "I've told you about that language."

She scoffed. "That's hilarious. Because you sure like that language in bed."

His eyes widened slightly, but he would refuse to allow her to believe she had him now. "None of this excuses you for being so distant. You have been treating me differently."

"You want to know why, Bane? Because I've been so _goddamn_ exhausted that I completely lost my desire for you!"

"Yes, because you would rather have your painter instead. And do you know what I say to that, Camille? There is no gun to your head. You may go back to him today if you wish. Go back and _suffer_ for all I care."

"How _dare_ you say those things to me!" She was shouting now, screaming at him with a fury that was tearing her apart. He was blindsiding her, infuriating her. And she was done. "I left _everything_ for you! The very last night I saw Jackson, I left him and came back to you. I quit my job, I spent all of my money, I broke the law. I did all of that so that I could find you and bring you back to me. I left _the world_ for you, Bane! _You,_ not Jackson, no one else. So don't stand there and think you're such a victim in all of this. I gave up everything for you. I could go to jail because I _chose_ _you_! I gave you my life because I—"

Her sudden stop caused him to take a step forward. His eyes bore into hers, waiting to hear it. Almost knowing what she was going to say, but not sure at the same time. He tried to reach for it, but felt like he couldn't. "Because you _what_, Camille?"

She held her mouth closed, felt the pressure behind her eyes again. She felt like she was panicking. She felt like she should curl up into a ball and die. But she couldn't finish. Because she didn't want this to end up the same way her last relationship had. She couldn't say the words because she feared how they would end up after they were said. And she couldn't lose him that way. _Because I…_

_So much. So very, very much._

Bane's chest felt like it would explode. But even through that, his eyes softened ever so slightly. He hated that they did. It was much better to feel anger for her than this. He wanted to stay mad at her, not regret the anger. He didn't want to hear those words, those few words that had been on her tongue, because they would undo him completely. But staring at her now, he suddenly didn't know what to do with this little woman who had beaten him in a fight because he'd trained her well. This woman… was killing him on the inside.

"How dare you say those things to me," she repeated in a whisper, swallowing some because her throat was starting to itch, because the pressure was becoming too much. "You, the biggest hypocrite of them all. And _don't _pretend to be ignorant of that," she warned, holding up a finger to shush him. "You think I don't know when you're thinking of her? You think I can't tell when she's on your mind? Of course I can tell. You still get this certain look in your eyes, that look only she can bring out in you. And it kills me."

Bane felt like he could flinch from her words now. He didn't want to hear this, especially this. He had left that ghost a long time ago. He had gotten rid of her so that he could live without her. Talia was gone, and could no longer be a part of his life. But Bane would be lying to himself if he thought they could be separate. Talia would probably always come as baggage for him.

Just as Jackson Lane would come as baggage for Camille.

"But the only questions is," Camille continued, approaching him closer because now things were out in the open. Now they would talk because they had no other choice. "Are you thinking about your little girl, or your woman? And I can never tell."

"Talia has nothing to do with this."

"Of course she does, Bane. She always will. She's still with you. There's a part of you that hasn't let something go. It kills me because I can never bring out that look in you. So don't use Jackson against me. I chose you over him a long time ago, and will always make that same choice. But you," she pointed at him, shook her head a little. "You will never feel for me the way you felt for her. You… you don't even tell me I'm beautiful."

She sounded so sad when she said it, it left him stunned. He had once told her she was attractive. He was always telling her she had pretty lips. How could she say that now? "That is not true."

"Yes it is. You've never told me. And I know… Miranda Tate was very beautiful." Camille looked up at him, frowned. Her everything would never feel the same way. She'd never even given any kind of thoughts to what exactly Bane felt for her, because she just couldn't know. Because she knew, if given the choice, that maybe she would always come in second place. "How do you think that makes me feel? To know… that if she somehow lived after the revolution, you would leave—"

Her throat closed on her. She hated herself when her eyes began to fill, when her chin began to quiver. When her neck constricted so that she could somehow hold in these tears. And there it was, Bane thought, staring back down at her because he couldn't look anywhere else. This is what was bothering her. This is why she was suffering. And when Camille whispered to him again, he felt like he'd been hit with a truck.

"You would leave me," she finished, barely.

She looked at him for a few moments more, and simply couldn't take it. She was going to cry, and didn't want him to see. She was finally going to fall apart over what they had become, and couldn't bear to do it in front of him. She started past him.

Bane suddenly reached out and took her hand, tried to pull her back to him. For a brief moment, he thought she would come closer. But she only gave his hand the slightest of squeezes, and pulled away to head for the bedroom they had once shared intimately.

He watched her go, watched her calmly shut the door. He couldn't go to her because he couldn't handle it. Didn't want to think about handling it.

_Because I… so much._

Hours later, the night had arrived and the wind storm raged outside. Bane paced, keeping away from the still silent bedroom and thought, because he didn't know what else to do.

Camille thought he would leave her if somehow Talia were still alive. Bane tried to picture it. Tried to picture Talia knocking on the door one day with a smile and telling him it was time to go home.

If Talia were alive, what would happen then?

Bane didn't like thinking about her because she had truly been such a weakness of his, a weakness he'd been blind to and had almost died for. A weakness that had consumed his life, and left him this way. A mask on his face and drugs running through his blood. But he had gotten rid of her that terrible night long ago. He had accepted what he'd really been to her, and had let her go so that he could move on.

But apparently, Camille was seeing something different. Apparently, Talia was still here. And in a way he couldn't quite place yet.

_If Talia were alive…_

But could he really go back to her? Could he really return to those emotions inside him that had almost killed him before? Talia was so very different from Camille. Talia was even so very different from himself. He didn't really like thinking about Talia anymore because she was way too confusing for him, a part of his past he wanted to bury and forget because he'd been so very weak.

He remembered the look on Camille's face when she'd told him that he would leave her if his old love had lived. He remembered the hitch in her throat and the tears settling in her eyes.

And then he remembered that same night he'd accepted Talia what for she'd truly been, that same night he had become terribly depressed from a bad realization. And Camille had been there for him.

Camille had not let him sink.

She was killing him. Killing him with those sad eyes and those pouty lips. Destroying him with the very way about her that had attracted him from the beginning. She had been taking care of him for so long, and now she was so insecure, so accepting that he would leave her for someone who had never loved him. But maybe they needed to be away from each other for a little while. Maybe, they just needed to think.

And like a Godsend, the phone rang.

* * *

When she woke, she woke alone. Just as she had been all week long. Just as she feared she always would now. But she had to be okay with it. Because she wouldn't leave him. Because she couldn't leave him.

She could barely exist with him, but she _couldn't _exist without him.

Camille stayed on her bed, blinked her dry, red eyes to moisten them. She hadn't wanted to cry yesterday, and she'd successfully stopped herself from sobbing. But the tears had fallen onto her cheeks, staining her, ruining her just like she always would be. She thought maybe she would feel better after, but now…

Now she didn't know what to do with herself.

Everything was out in the open, and she could only guess where the truths that were spoken yesterday would take her and Bane. She really didn't want Jackson. She really had no idea why she'd said his name in her sleep. It had just been a sick joke fate was deciding to play on her. She would never choose Jackson over Bane. And hopefully he believed that, because she didn't know what to do to convince him otherwise.

Camille turned over onto her side. At first all she could register was the emptiness. But when she blinked again, she noticed something along the other pillow. She sat up, brushed her black curls back and picked up the little note that had been left. It was no doubt from Bane. Hardly anyone else ever came here. Silently, she read.

_Business is taking me away for two weeks, but I will make sure you are kept safe while I'm gone. Continue with your training. I want to come home to find you have improved even more. _

Camille noticed other words on the note, but she could only stare at the words _away for two weeks_. Bane was gone for a while, and she didn't know if that was a good thing or a bad thing. She couldn't tell if anything had been resolved yesterday, and would now have to wait fourteen days to find out. She dismissed it, looked down to the other written words he'd left for her.

Her breath stopped and her heart swelled. She read them what felt like a thousand times, and still couldn't seem to register them completely. But she kept reading them, because she would hold on to them until the day he returned. Camille read them again, read them over and over.

_You are mine._

_I am yours. _

_Always. _

Camille held the note, stared at it. After everything that had happened between them, this is how it would end. The battle seemed over. There was still pain in her chest now that he was gone, but it wasn't near as bad, and she could finally breathe. He was hers. Bane was all hers. It was written right here in front of her eyes. She smiled, fell back onto the bed.

_All hers. _

And for once, in a very long time, she couldn't wait for him to come home.

**TBC**

**A/N: Holy hell, I hate it when Bane and Camille fight. It killed me to write them this way, but it had to be done. Life isn't easy, and neither are the relationships we have in it. And no, loves, Talia will not be making any surprising, alive appearances. That woman is still dead as a doornail. Just clearing that up. Thank you all for telling me your favorite scene from **_**Mercenary**_**. It seemed on average the fan's favorite part was when Camille rescued Bane from the pit. Like I told a reviewer, one of my favorite scenes is when Camille cuts herself and Bane finds her that way. It was an important event that sealed their bond, and helped push them to where they are now. So, if Bane and Camille are in love, and I'll give you a wink on that, who do you think fell first? Thank you for the reviews, as always. Kisses to every one of you. **


	7. Rebirthing

_**Amaranthine**_

**Chapter 7**

**Rebirthing**

"_Rebirthing now. I wanna live my life, wanna give you everything. Breathe for the first time now. I come alive somehow." – Skillet_

Counting down the days had become extremely annoying for Camille. After the first three she was done, and simply immersed herself in her training, and her other tasks such as housecleaning and preparing medicine for Bane. She kept herself so busy that she wouldn't even have time to glance at the clock or the calendar, wishing fourteen days would go by quickly so that she could feel like herself again. Completely.

For the next two weeks until Bane returned home, Camille worked herself to the bone. To the point of continued exhaustion.

Every day she ran her miles, ate the appropriate amount of food, lifted the correct weights, and practiced her combat routine. She even put on her bindings, only thinking for a split second that she could get away without them because Bane wasn't there. But he wanted to see more progress, and she found that she definitely wanted to show him. So, almost regrettably, she shimmied into them and began the training that would consume her until she was no longer alone.

Now, as sweat trailed down her body, as her breath panted from her lungs while she practiced her high kicks onto a punching bag, was the time when she could think.

She wondered what would happen when Bane came home. She found that she desperately wanted to see him, and wanted even more for things to finally be okay between them, something it hadn't been for months. She was tired of fighting, tired of keeping things from him because she was too worried about his feelings and her own obligations towards him. She just wanted things to go back to normal, because she didn't think either of them could survive each other if they weren't.

Camille switched legs, sent her kicks high into the bag and thought about their last conversation.

She couldn't explain the sadness that consumed her every time the face of the woman who'd tortured him came to her mind, when she knew that that woman was on his own. Talia al Ghul had severely messed him up, and Camille, even as a psychiatrist, didn't know if she could fix him from it. It was very hard for Bane to coexist with a woman who wasn't his past love, and she knew from experience that it was very odd indeed. But Bane had to be fixed. One way or another, sooner or later down the road, she had to heal him completely. She could no longer live contently with knowing that she still entered his mind, in whatever form, be it little girl or lovely woman. Camille would destroy her once and for all, and finally, after soon very long, set him free.

She had to. Because Bane had become so very, very important.

Camille thought again as she trained about how exactly Bane felt for her. She knew he wanted her, knew he lusted for her. She knew that he even liked her. But if there was anything else underneath all of that, she couldn't know. She'd always been a terrible judge of character when it came to the feelings of others for her. It was the reason why she'd stuck around with a family who abused her and didn't want her, and had married a man who had done the very same thing. So trying to pinpoint Bane's feelings for her was one of the most confusing things she'd ever thought about.

He obviously wanted to keep her around for the long-run. She'd known him for over a year now, had been living with him for just about the same amount of time. Before they'd even started her training they had made a somewhat odd agreement to be monogamous. Camille would never, ever go to another man now while she was with Bane, and she knew that he was a man of his word when it came to her. They were almost, in a strange way, married.

Camille didn't know if Bane loved her. And if she were honest with herself, she'd never even thought about it before their last confrontation. No one had ever truly loved her in her whole life, so she wasn't all too sure what exactly it felt like. She just went through the days, in this odd monogamous relationship with a masked mercenary, and could only know what was in her own heart.

And from being so damaged by the feeling, she wasn't sure how to handle any of it.

Bane was her rope. And she knew she was his. Always pulling each other out of the hole because no one else had ever done it. Always pulling, and never letting go.

Maybe it wasn't love, and maybe it was. But it was better than where they were before each other.

And as the days turned into a week, and then another, Camille had forgotten when exactly Bane was supposed to come home, and simply waited patiently for him.

* * *

The business that had taken him away had turned into a job. A job that both he and his men had agreed to, and a job that had paid extremely well. A job that had everything to do with the League of Shadows.

Bane wondered, on the drive back home, what Ra's al Ghul would think if he saw now that the new Demon Head was the very monster he'd despised.

In a very remote part of Pakistan, a town there had become terribly corrupt, the Middle Eastern equivalent of Gotham City. Run by a dictator that had even squashed the innocence of small children, the League had tortured him, murdered him, and had wiped that town clean from the map. No longer existing, no longer tainting the world and causing unbalance.

But now the job was done, and he was returning home. Soon, they would go back to Gotham and finish their work there. Work that was no longer a destiny of Ra's al Ghul's, but completely his own. Gotham would burn once and for all. It had to. And that was that.

He didn't want to question himself.

It had been two long weeks, even with a few added days, and Bane wondered what he would return home to.

No longer would he live in unease in his own home. No longer would he allow Camille to keep her feelings bottled up inside her, ready to fester and infect him too. They had both set a goal, and he would refuse to allow a year of their lives to be wasted on something trivial such as fighting. He would see that goal through. He would turn Camille into a soldier and keep her by his side. He had already claimed her as his own so very long ago. And now he had given her that same authority over himself.

_I am yours._

Bane would never allow her to compare him to Jackson Lane. And… he should keep Camille and Talia separate as well. He had once belonged to Talia al Ghul completely, ever since she'd been a small child. But it was time to feel something different. It was time to be free and live again.

It was time to go home, and force things to be okay between him and Camille because they couldn't keep going on like they used to be before he'd left.

Bane walked up to his home, through the humidity of Indian autumn morning, and thought of all the things he would say to Camille once he found her. He would tell her that the words he'd written in the note to her should be enough, and that they would be content because of them. He would tell her that it was no longer a time for sadness and dishonesty, and that it would be just like when they'd first arrived. He would yell at her again if he had to, demand that she be okay with him again. So many things to tell her, to command of her. Bane searched the house with adrenaline running through his veins, shredding his jacket so that his skin could breathe through the black shirt, feeling an odd high that the war between them would be over because he would _demand_ that it be over.

He found her in the office that had become her work area when preparing his analgesics for him, wearing yet another one of those alluring dark dresses as she fiddled with various tools that would keep him sustained medically.

Bane stared at the back of her, and all his previous words vanished from his mind.

He could smell her from here, that wonderful floral scent of his female. That pale skin all clean, her hair so long, so curly, and so dark. He could only imagine what color those pouty lips would be, what those black eyes held when he was finally able to look at her face. He'd only been gone a little over two weeks, and it felt like two years. He'd survived without her for much longer than that, but now it seemed different. It was different because he'd gotten so used to her being around for him, whenever he would need her, whenever he would see her or hear her voice. Their bond had been broken, but now he needed it back. Bane didn't want her to be sad, he wanted her to be strong, capable, and willing in every way. He needed her, because she was his.

Because he was hers.

Camille looked off to the side a little, knowing he was behind her in the doorway but couldn't seem to turn to face him or to speak. She still wasn't sure how he was feeling towards her. A note was one thing, but reality another. She didn't want to fight with him anymore, she only wanted to feel him. She wanted to be with him again because she couldn't live without him. She heard the sound of his heavy boots approaching her back closer, that loud, intimidating sound that could make men cry in fear. Camille stood still, perfectly still until he was standing right behind her. Her heart thumped in her chest, and almost stopped completely when she felt his hands on her hair.

Bane ran his hands down her curls, those long, coarse curls that always used to get in the way when he would try to sleep. He missed the feeling of her hair, missed grasping it at night because he needed the lifeline. He took her hair into his hand, lifted it to his mask to breathe her in. He thought of all the things he'd said to her before he left. Things like how he could hate her, things like how he possibly didn't want her anymore. And other things like how maybe she should leave. But she couldn't leave. If she did then he wouldn't know what to do anymore. Something gripped inside his chest, something terrible because of all those things he'd said. But he had to make it right, because neither of them could continue to live this way. Bane moved her hair over her shoulder, slid his arms around her waist, buried his face in her neck because he just needed to have her close. No longer distant, no longer kept at bay. Just here, right now.

Emotions swamped her, making her stiff, almost making her cringe. But Camille grasped at his arms, held him close to her because she couldn't bear to be anything but. How could they have been so distant? How could they have said such terrible things? To be with him was to be alive. To have him close was to finally breathe. Bane held her back against his chest tightly, and murmured something to her. Something that made her chest swell, something that eradicated the unease completely.

"I'm sorry."

And just like that, the pain in both their chests disappeared.

He had never said that to her before. The closest he'd ever come to was giving her a flower when he had struck her in rage. But she heard the words now, words she thought she'd never hear, words that were so small but meant so very much. Instantly she forgave him. Instantly, everything was finally okay. Camille spun around, wrapped her arms around his neck and held him close. Bane lifted her onto the desk behind her so that she could be more level with him, and sunk into her.

_All hers_. It was all she could think, over and over again because it meant everything. Her world, her heart. Everything she'd left for this man meant nothing, meaningless to her now. Camille took his masked cheeks into her hands, and kissed the tubes that covered his mouth, kissed his cheeks, kissed his eyes, kissed him everywhere because she had neglected them both the feeling for so long. He'd told her that she didn't kiss him anymore. All she knew was that she had to make up for it now. Bane closed his eyes against her lips, simply felt the feeling of her kisses everywhere, soft little pecks of her pouty mouth along his neck now that he hadn't felt in forever. He placed his hands on her thighs as her lips kissed him everywhere she could, almost frantically, almost desperately.

"I'm sorry too," she said softly, running her hands along his shoulders as she kissed his hissing mask again because she couldn't kiss his lips. "I'm so sorry."

Bane slid his fingers underneath the hem of her dress, just to feel the skin he hadn't touched this way in weeks. He looked at her smeared red mouth, then up into her eyes, and saw the bright whiskey color in them from the morning sun outside.

"I don't tell you you're beautiful."

Camille rubbed her lips together, took a deep breath and shook her head. "I shouldn't have said that—"

"When we first met, I once told you that you resembled Snow White," he said, cutting her off because he knew, for whatever reason, that it meant something for her to hear it. He thought back to that time in the asylum, when she had been nothing more than an unwanted doctor forced on him by the government. Now she was here, as his soldier and as his woman. "Snow White… is the fairest of them all. And you look just like her."

A few weeks ago he'd told her that he didn't want her because he had been so upset. And it had been the worst thing she'd ever heard. Hearing this now, hearing these words that she had wanted because it was oddly important to hear it from him… Camille realized that they were the most precious words she'd ever been given. Her breath stopped, her heart pounded. No one had ever said something like that to her before, even Jackson when she'd been his wife. She didn't know how she should react to these words. All she could do was believe him. Camille smiled up at him, pulled him close so that she could kiss his mask and his skin some more. Such precious words, and all she wanted to hear from him.

Bane ran his hands farther up her thighs underneath her dress as she kissed him. Camille slid her fingers beneath his shirt to feel the thick, raised scar on the back of his neck. Suddenly he wanted her. Suddenly he needed to feel all of her against him. Camille felt his desire, allowed his hands to wander up higher on her legs. She opened her mouth to tell him he could have her here if he wanted, but then she cringed a little as she heard more footsteps walking through their home, and the soft voices of others. Bane looked behind him, then back at her and sighed at the sounds of his men.

"They will be working here for a few hours today," he told her softly, pulling the skirt of her dress back down her thighs regretfully. "But I will have you later, if you wish."

Camille eyed some of the men behind Bane as they walked by with busy steps, tried to see if their faces matched his second in command who always seemed to be sneering at her. But they paid her no mind at all. She ran her hands down Bane's chest, absently looked over to the calendar hanging on the wall, and noted the date.

"It's my birthday today."

Bane raised his brows some, realized that he had been around for her last birthday. He had been in severe pain, the worst day he'd had at the time, and she had disobeyed her boss's orders and given him sleep medication so that he could rest through the worst of it. It seemed like so long ago, but at the same time felt like just yesterday. How could she have done something like that for him after he'd tried blowing her city to hell? He had almost killed her and yet she'd given him rest. But maybe fate knew they'd end up here. Maybe, she would have always left her home behind to follow him.

"You are twenty-eight."

Camille rolled her eyes. "Don't remind me."

He smiled underneath his mask. "You are still young. You are an old soul in your mind, but still young in body. I'm afraid I have no idea how old I am." Bane then sobered his face when he looked back into hers, and felt like they still needed to talk about what had happened. He didn't want another repeat, and knew, from experience, what they needed to do to keep it from happening again. He couldn't live in unrealized turmoil with this woman, not like how he had with the last one. "Enough suffering," he told her softly, repeating her own words from so long ago. "Talia had not given me honesty and mutual respect. I ask those things from you now. We cannot coexist the way I hope for us to if there is no trust. And… I trust you." Bane reached up, rubbed his thumb underneath her bottom lip to wipe away some smeared red lipstick. "I only hope you continue to trust me, as well."

Camille looked up at him, and knew things had to change. It would be hard, for the both of them, but they had to do it. So that they could survive. Past relationships would not tarnish them, they would have to stop it. And to do that, she would do what he asked of her because it was the only way they could be with each other and not repeat history. She nodded, and hoped they could both live up to this new agreement.

Someone was calling for him, and Camille hopped off the desk so that he could work. She checked the medicine behind her, made sure everything was still set up properly. "I'm going to finish this, and then I'll wait for you."

Bane nodded, backed out of the room. "I won't be long."

* * *

It was still the late hours of morning when he found her lounging on their bed. The clouds outside were starting to turn a nasty gray, causing even more humidity from the coming rainy season. India may not have very many seasons like Gotham did, but autumn meant rain, and even monsoons. Bane didn't think they would have to experience one. The area they were living in was lucky enough to evade the monsoons, if not the rain. And if they were still here when winter arrived, then they would simply move away from the dangers of the environment.

Bane watched her as she waited for him on the bed, wondering what she was thinking of, wondering if she still had any hang-ups that were bothering her. She still looked so very tired, her eyes still shadowed and her skin still that exhausted gray-like tone. He knew she hadn't skipped out on her training while he'd been gone. He could even tell that she'd consumed herself in it. But Camille needed to sleep, otherwise she might start clamming up again.

Bane wondered if he would always be saving her from herself. And maybe she would always have to do the same for him.

He found that it was a fair trade. Camille looked over at him, smiled sleepily.

An idea suddenly came to his mind.

"I want to see your progress. Remove your clothing."

Camille lifted a brow, waited until he closed the door behind him so that none of his men would see her body while passing through the house. She reached for her dress, pulled it over her head to reveal her nude-colored underwear. "I kept up with training. I even wore the bindings. I swear."

"Yes, I know. I can see. Take those off," he continued, pointing to her panties.

She obeyed, deciding that maybe he wanted her now. And she would let him have her, because it had been a few weeks since they'd been intimate. She was still so exhausted that she couldn't seem to find the lust that had left her a long time ago. But with time she knew she could find it. And at least she no longer felt resentful of him. She was tired, she was confused by the continued absence of her desire. But at least she wanted him around again.

Camille drew her brows together once Bane started exiting the room.

"Wait for me," he murmured to her, and closed the door.

She shrugged, thought maybe someone was calling for him again. She wondered if she should feel weird that she was going to let Bane have her with his men right outside the door. But brushed that worry away quickly. They all knew of their relationship, and some knew more than others after the night she had returned to him back in Gotham, the night they hadn't been discreet at all when they had coupled roughly. And that night, only a flimsy curtain had blocked them off from listening ears. Any other normal couple would wait until they left.

Bane and Camille found that they didn't care. His men would pretend that they knew nothing, and would be punished if they made any inclination otherwise.

Camille heard his loud footsteps, stretched out on the bed as she continued to wait.

Bane walked in, slammed the door. Camille's eyes widened, and quickly she sat up when she saw he wasn't wearing the mask. She worried about his pain, worried that he had made a bad choice and that she was going to have to run through the house practically naked to find it for him, and get it back on him before it could get too awful. "What the hell are you doing?"

And then he rushed her, dropping the mask that had been in his hand all along onto the bed and placing one hand on her chest to forcibly push her onto her back, using the other to hold her thigh apart. Camille let out an _oof_ as she was pushed, opened her mouth to ask him what on earth he thought he was doing.

Her words became nothing but a soft squeal when she felt something hot and wet between her legs.

Her eyes widened, her mind completely blanked of all thoughts. Her mouth hung open as she felt Bane's lips where she'd never felt them before, where she never thought she would ever feel them. She jumped a little when he closed his mouth over her, felt the lips she hardly ever saw moving over her flesh and kissing her the way he would kiss her mouth. She felt her vision cloud, felt her heart stop. She couldn't think because she was too busy feeling, too busy trying to make sense of what she was beginning to think of as a dream.

A very, very lovely dream.

Camille felt Bane's tongue travel over her opening, going a little higher and tasting her in an a way she'd never felt before. She gasped softly when his tongue hit the right spot, that lovely little spot that sent shocks through her system, that made her toes curl. She grasped at his arm, tried to sit up so she could see…

She only got a split second to watch as his head move between her legs before he used his massive strength to push her back down again, and hold her there.

And then suddenly, the feeling became even better. Suddenly she felt like she was flying when she felt herself moisten, when she felt the hot throb of pleasure vibrate through her body. Bane obviously loved when he could taste her wet core, when he growled softly and made her moan. He held her thigh apart when she jolted again, when she dug her nails into his forearm that held her down as he ferociously used his mouth on her. Camille whimpered and tried to lift her head, could only let it fall back onto the bed when she felt that wonderful hot tongue push between her folds and taste the very inside of her.

She couldn't think, not with the pleasurable haze covering her brain. She quite simply couldn't get her breath. He savaged her, made her groan when he lightly used his teeth. And then she lost her mind.

"Oh God, don't stop," she moaned, breathing deeply and trying to open her legs wider so that she could feel more, feel more of his wet mouth on her. "You're crazy. You are _crazy_… Keep going."

Bane smiled, tried to ignore the first hints of the sting crawling its way into his back, and licked her some more, making her lose herself, taking her away and destroying her. On a sharp cry her head fell back again, leaving her completely hot, wet, and hungry, wanting more because now she was mad with feeling. His mouth consumed her flesh again, his tongue tasting every inch of her center. The scent of her, that lovely liquid response, made him feel like a man starved. Her body tried to writhe, but was kept still by his strength. Her mouth wanted to scream, but was taken over by her low growl of pleasure. The pressure in her lower stomach built, built, built some more. Release suddenly gushed through her, scorched her body with its aching fire. But she was still flying, catapulting out of control.

And Bane didn't stop.

"Oh my God," she squealed, breathing heavily and feeling herself quake. Her thighs quivered around him as he sucked at her flesh, as his tongue swirled around her and tasted the wet flows of her orgasm. She was whimpering now in aftershock, wishing he would stay there forever and wishing she could just have a moment to process all of this at the same time. He felt her body go slack underneath him, licked her a few more times because he didn't know when he would be able to taste her this way again. With every slow swipe of his tongue she let out a little mew.

Bane could feel himself burning now, the annoying simmer of his aching pain wanting to consume him. He took a deep breath, tried to find it in himself to last for just a few more seconds. And because those seconds were ticking away, he crawled up her body, hovered over her and stared down at her face.

Her cheeks were pink and her eyes were glazed over, looking back up at him in an almost wonderment. She lay beneath him, stupefied and completely disoriented, her hands resting on either side of her head as her chest rose and fell with her deep, exhausted breathing. Camille's eyes wandered down to his mouth, shiny from her release, that scarred, wonderful mouth that had pleasured her in a staggering way.

Bane lowered his head, touched his lips to hers and kissed her.

Camille thought she would only have the strength to breathe after what had just happened. Now she could only kiss him back, knowing he was in pain but not wanting to feel his mouth away from her. Things were okay now. Things were okay because they hadn't let their soul wounds destroy what they had. They may not be the perfect pair of lovers, but she knew she would die for him, if only to never hurt him again.

"Happy birthday," he murmured against her lips.

Camille closed her eyes and tried to concentrate on her breathing as Bane pulled away to quickly put his mask back on. She heard him groan softly once the painkillers raked his system again, soothing him back to health and keeping the worst of the pain away. He fell onto his back next to her, stared up at the ceiling and felt a satisfaction when she continued to pant softly.

"I haven't received many birthday presents in my life," she began, her voice low and husky from pleasure, her breasts straining against her nude-colored bra. "But… that was definitely the best one I've ever got."

Bane smiled and gave a breathless laugh. "You have never felt that before?"

Camille let out a whooshing breath, shook her head. "No, I haven't. With Jackson, I just always gave. Have _you_ ever done that before?" she asked.

Bane put one hand behind his head, moved his shoulder to crack it. "Only once."

Camille finally opened her eyes, decided that she had been severely jipped by her selfish ex-husband. She decided to hate him even more. "It's just my luck," she muttered, sighing a little at the sorrow of it. "I finally have a man who will do that for me… and his mouth is always covered."

She thought about that truth some more, then couldn't help the laugh that bubbled up her throat. She giggled helplessly, giggled even more when Bane started to laugh with her. Just look at us, she thought as her stomach began to hurt. Laughing at themselves for how pathetic they used to be, how many bad decisions they'd made for the one who had been their whole life. It really was just their luck. But even though Camille would wish at times that she could see and kiss his lips whenever she wanted, she found that she would take the mask over a mouth any day.

This was who he was. And this was who she'd chosen.

Camille looked over to the clock, stretched. "It's noon. We're late for training."

Bane put his hand on her shoulder, held her back down. She stared at him with confusion laced in her eyes as he pulled the comforter over her half naked body.

"I have cancelled training. Today, you will sleep."

Camille couldn't explain how she felt when he said the words. Nothing seemed better, the offer of sleeping instead of training. Rest instead of terrible exhaustion. She couldn't remember the last deep, relaxing and undisturbed sleep she'd had. She'd still woken up multiple times in the night when he'd been gone. But now they were back to normal.

Maybe now, she could finally sleep.

Camille brushed her knuckles underneath his chin, felt like she could cry wonderful happy tears of joy. She could finally get rid of the exhaustion. She could finally not feel so horribly tired. "Thank you," she whispered to him, and felt her body relax.

Bane waited until she fell into a deep sleep, and quietly slipped out of bed so he could see to his men.

* * *

She slept all day long, never once waking up because her body was so exhausted, so tired, that the only thing it could do was lie there and rest. No longer was she torturing herself from her exhaustion and her negative feelings towards Bane. No longer was her body wishing for him even while her heart and mind wanted him to go away. Now, everything was at peace. Now she slept because she'd been long overdue.

Bane had peeked into the bedroom a couple times throughout the day, just to make sure that she was still asleep, and sleeping soundly. And this time, he knew for certain that she was dead to the world. The comforter had been kicked off the bed completely, the sheets in a tangled mess around her body from her tossing and turning. One pillow had been thrown across the room, the others were scattered along the floor. And each and every time he'd looked in, she was curled up or stretched out in some strange position or another.

Yes, she was definitely asleep, he thought, walking up to the side of the bed at one point and scooting her away from the edge so she wouldn't fall off. Camille had sighed deeply, rolled onto her back and reached to the side with one sleepy hand.

"Bane," she whispered, giving up the search for him and falling back into deep slumber.

And that was the way it should be, he concluded. He would make sure of it.

Evening came and his men were gone. Inside the bathroom, Bane replaced the canisters in his mask, felt the morphine travel through his system for the second time today as he stared at his naked face in the water filled in the sink. His skin might still be scarred and his nose still crooked from when it had been horribly broken, but it was nothing compared to how he used to look. Bane knew he would never look how he was supposed to look naturally ever again. That face had been destroyed a long time ago, for a girl who would almost become the death of him in many ways.

But at least he no longer looked terribly deformed. Time had healed most of his face, even though it could never bring him back fully and take away the necessity of wearing the mask, but it was better than being a broken mess of a man.

Camille groaned and stretched on the bed as she began to wake up, taking a deep breath and brushing her messy hair away from her face. Finally she had been able to sleep, a wonderful sleep completely absent of any nightmares or sudden bursts of wakefulness. No one had woken her up, and she hadn't fallen off the bed. It was her birthday still, Bane was home, and he had given her… one hell of a present.

She couldn't remember a better day. It felt like so long since she'd felt this content.

Lazily, she rolled onto her side, watched as Bane cleaned his face in the bathroom, a chore he usually did when he would be without the mask. She took the rest of him in, noticed he was only in a pair of boxer briefs. Her eyes skimmed over his back, that very large back consumed with the powerful muscle of a very powerful man. She looked at his arms, down his legs, danced her eyes over the body that had been sculpted on one of God's best days. She looked at his bare face as he washed up, felt that maybe she was the only one to look past the scars and other injuries to the face that had once been very attractive. She had always considered him handsome, felt that maybe she was twisted in the head for thinking so back in their asylum days. She looked at him now, and saw what was hers. He belonged to her, just as she belonged to him. All hers…

Camille looked at his body some more, almost pouted when he moved away and got in the running shower. She scooted at a different angle on the bed, peeked over in the bathroom so she could watch him. Now he was all wet. Now all that hot water was running over those hard, powerful muscles.

And then… her lost desire flared to life with intensity.

Her eyes suddenly darkened, focusing in only on her target and heating with the lust that had been away from her for so long. In madness now, Camille scurried off the bed, pranced into the bathroom and simply stared.

He had the water hot, almost boiling hot that made steam encompass the room, fogging the mirror and the glass walls around the shower. But Camille could see past it to the only thing she could think of right now, her mind just as thick and cloudy as the steam. She saw Bane standing there naked, his mask back in its proper place, holding the wrist usually wrapped in a brace underneath the spray to soothe it. The blue tiles on the wall of the shower moistened from the water, dripping little drops that matched those dripping from his skin. She watched those drops, and suddenly couldn't stand to be anywhere away from him. Forgetting about the bra that had been left on her body from earlier, Camille opened the glass door, stepped inside and into the hot steam.

Bane remained still as he heard Camille get in the shower with him. There was enough room for both of them, and they'd showered together before, so he didn't think much of it. He only continued to hold his aching wrist underneath the hard spray of the water, cracking it a little to readjust it back into place.

And then he felt her fingertips along his back, and forgot all about his pain.

Camille stared at his back like she'd never seen any part of his skin before, almost like she were touching him for the first time because it had been so long since she'd felt this way. She was nowhere near his height, but she reached up, sliding her hands over the hard muscle of the body she knew so well. She then ran her hands down, touching his sides and sliding her palms over his hips, stepping closer to that she could breathe him in, so that she could rest her forehead along his spine. She could already feel herself hot and wet for him, aching for him because her desire had been gone, consuming her completely now. She kissed his spine where the great scar was, flicked her tongue there.

"Bane," she breathed, moving her hands back up to rake her nails down his sides. "I want you."

Bane snatched her by her upper arm, pulled her around to face him until her back hit the wet shower wall. He looked at her face, into her eyes, and saw the woman he'd been missing. Here she was, after so very long. His aggressive Camille with the carnal lust filling in her black eyes. He couldn't remember the last time he'd seen her this way, wanting him because she was so very aroused, instead of simply letting him take from her to satisfy himself. And somehow, all those months of her being unresponsive and almost completely indifferent in bed seemed even longer than what it actually was. Suddenly he was craving her, _this_ woman who had been gone from him for what felt like an eternity.

He didn't want her to go away ever again.

Bane grabbed her wrists, pinned them above her head. "Say it again."

"I want you," she said breathlessly, kept her hands where he'd placed them as he went to work on getting her bra off. "Please just touch me."

Bane threw her soaked bra, letting it smack on the wet glass behind him before staring at the newly exposed skin. "First I will wash you." He spun her around, pushed her chest against the wall. He leaned in close, stared at her mouth as she pouted over her shoulder. "Then I will have you."

It was torture.

Camille wanted to grasp onto something, but the wall wouldn't allow her. She wanted to turn around and have him, but Bane made her seethe in desire as he slicked soap all over her skin, moving his hands everywhere on her body to wash her. His eyes intently followed his hands, watching closely and smirking a little whenever he would hear an impatient sound come from her. His hands were hard and calloused, trailing over her body and driving her insane, touching her and bumping into her, showing her what waited for her as soon as he was done. His erection teased her, brushing against her and finally feeling like it used to feel for her, no longer blocking her from sleep because now all she wanted was sex. And then finally, Bane's hands roamed up and were filled with her breasts. Camille moaned softly, pressed her chest further into his hands as he cupped her. She shivered, pushed her hips back to bump against his.

"Now," she told him, pressing her bottom against his erection, beckoning him closer inside her. "Please, now."

Bane moved some of her hair away, all the hair that seemed to be getting longer now that her curls were steadily dampening from the moisture of the shower, and took the back of one of her thighs to spread her open. He reached between her legs with his other hand first, remembered the hot taste of her there, and felt that same lovely wetness that would consume him. Suddenly as impatient as his woman, Bane quickly lined himself up behind her and pushed all the way to her limit.

They both groaned, suddenly feeling so deprived of each other, suddenly never wanting to part again. Camille squeezed her eyes shut against the stretch, let out a long breath as she felt herself slowly adjust to his great length. But she couldn't wait, didn't want to wait any longer than she already had, and pulled his hands onto her hips. She found that he was just as impatient.

Bane instantly starting pumping into her, at just the pace they both needed, hard and fast because the sensation was mind-blowing. He grasped her hips, slammed her onto his cock every time he would pull back to have her again. She was so tight from all the weeks of being without him, being without sex, and his mind clouded at the grip.

Camille cooed to him when he leaned against her, when he wrapped his arms around her to that he could feel the front of her as he steadily took her from behind. He reached between her legs, rubbed her some on the spot that drove her insane, wished he could watch her touch herself as he pounded away at her opening. And because the thought aroused him even more, Bane set his fingers against her lips, remembered the feeling of her mouth on him as she sucked away at the fingers that had been rubbing her. He groaned some as she bit him, set the mouthpiece of his mask on her shoulder and took a deep breath.

"Don't _stop_," she hissed through her teeth when his hips ceased to move. "Oh God, why are you stopping?"

Bane shook his head to clear it, pulled out of her and made her whimper at the absence of him. "Turn around."

Camille did as she was told, instantly grabbed his shoulders when he took her bottom and lifted her against the wall. She was way too short for him to simply stay behind her that way. His back was beginning to ache from the bend and he needed her more level with him. But as her eyes bore into his, as her arms wrapped around his neck, Bane realized that this way of having her was important. This was the way he'd taken her for the very first time.

That first time, he had to force arousal on her, had to force it on himself as well because the situation had been so confrontational. He'd become the only other man to have her other than her ex-husband. And he'd become the man to erase him completely. Bane looked down so he could slide himself back inside her, pulled her flush against his body so that he could feel every inch. Camille smiled when he moved and held her underneath the spray of the hot water, drenching her completely and making her skin as silky smooth as his. And then she was against the wall again. And then he was driving into her in madness.

Camille moaned loudly as he rode her, as her back hit the wall of the shower, as the hard length of his cock pushed her to the edge of release. She scratched at his shoulders and his arms, tightened herself around him to increase the resistance and cause him to growl against the grip. She would kill him if he dared to stop now, kill herself if her desire for him ever left her again. She needed this, needed him. More than anything because he had become everything. Stream billowed around them, thickening the air until her lungs clogged with it. She encouraged him on, made him go faster and harder against her because that was how they loved it. Bane groaned deeply into her neck, slammed himself into her because he wanted to feel her finish around him.

"Come for me, Camille," he hissed at her, reached up with a desperate hand to fist her wet hair and ride her harder.

She cried out when she came, gasped and held him close as she felt him empty inside of her, as she felt the hot spill of his release fill her, and claim her again. She panted as she ran her hands down his chest, leaned forward to kiss his shoulder and his neck as he calmed himself. Their skin was red from the hot water, their eyes glazed over from satisfying sex. Bane pulled out of her, set her onto her feet so that he could lean his weight on his forearms against the wall. His hand was still locked within the tangled, wet black mess of her hair, gripping her there because it was almost a strange leash to keep her near him. Camille felt something other than water trickle down the inside of her thighs, figured that she would have to be cleaned again, knowing he would too. Bane had his eyes closed, his chest steadily moving up and down with his breaths. She didn't want him to feel like he was being neglected from her affections. She could hate herself for denying him in the first place before the situation had been resolved. And because she would _never_ deny him that way again, she cupped his masked cheeks, pulled him closer down to her, and kissed the skin of his face softly. Oddly enough, neither of them had ever had makeup sex before.

Maybe it had been worth all the fighting.

Bane suddenly felt so tired, what with the mask being off twice today and his joints aching slightly, his eyes felt heavy and his limbs loose. He wished for his bed even as he brushed his fingers over her lips. "All mine," he murmured to her softly.

Camille kissed his fingers, pulled him close to her so that he could breathe into her neck, so that she could wrap her arms around him. "Mine too," she whispered.

And everything was as it should be.

Later, once they'd cleaned properly and finally turned off the shower, Bane rested on the bed reading, wearing only a pair of comfortable pants for sleep. Camille was washing her face, putting on lip moisturizer right after she'd pulled on some clean underwear. And when he felt the bed give way underneath him, he looked over the book and watched as she pushed apart his long legs, climbing between them and staring at him.

"We're being honest now," she told him, repeating his earlier words. Camille set her hands by his sides, leaned over his body as her hair tickled his stomach. "And… I like it when you hold me."

Bane stared back at her. Usually when they slept, they would lay next to each other, stay touching each other in some way. And whenever Camille would fall asleep she would constantly be reaching for him. But it was very rare when they would hold each other for sleep. Maybe it was some sick form of leftover pride, trying to keep away what they really were to each other because they didn't want to feel anything more than what had got them this far.

Or maybe they just didn't know how to be with someone who wanted them just as much as the other.

Bane set the book down, and waited for her to climb all the way between his legs so that she could straddle him. He watched her face as she leaned down, kissed his mask softly, and then her head was on his chest, using him as a bed because she wanted to be close to him. Bane looked up at the ceiling, pulled the covers over them and turned off the lights. He found himself suddenly running his fingers through her hair, soothing them both to sleep because there had been no rest in their home before.

To be with Bane was to be alive. Camille knew that all too well. But it was also the hardest thing she'd ever done. Their pasts had almost been their undoing, taking them away from reality and filling up the hole they were trapped in with the hope for someone else to love them. But they were learning to live a different way. And with someone who knew exactly how the hole had felt. Damaged, she knew he once had been, and God knew so had she.

Yet somehow, they continually managed to heal each other.

**TBC**

**A/N: Only one more chapter before Gotham City, I promise. I know everyone is looking forward to the other characters I have coming in… Certain ones that will be big competition for our favorite mercenary couple. Thank you all for reading and reviewing, even though there was a minor mess up in this chapter after I uploaded that I totally fixed. You guys make my world go round, and are my lovely inspiration. And I hope you don't mind the long chapters. I try very hard to make it seem like you're reading an actual novel instead of just a regular fanfic. I feel like it gives it more life. Review for me, darlings. **


	8. Falling Awake

_**Amaranthine**_

**Chapter 8**

**Falling Awake**

"_In this moment I am just becoming, liberated from my cell of nothing. No sensation, there was only breathing. Overcome oblivion." – Tarja Turunen_

Bane watched her as she slept, her hair in her face, her limbs tangled within the messy sheets, and her chest rising and falling as she continued to slumber. She was on her back, he on his side, staring at the woman who was certainly driving him into madness. Camille moaned softly and contently in her sleep, reaching up to stretch and kicking at the comforter that had been pushed down to her feet. Bane had never known anyone else to sleep so restlessly, and wondered how on earth she _could _sleep with all the movement. But it really was the only way she could rest. True sleep for Camille came with talking, moving, and other little sounds that would escape past those pouty lips. Practically every night she would kick him, scratch him, try to yank him close. And every night he let her.

He wondered why he put up with it.

But, he realized with uncertainty, he found that he could always sleep just fine.

Bane roamed his eyes over her face. She had been successful in keeping her skin pale during their year in India, always slathering on the sunscreen she would force on him as well whenever they would go out into the sun for shooting practice. He'd always loved how her skin looked against the black of her hair, or the intense color she would paint her lips. He knew, when Talia had been alive, that she'd never had any use for makeup because she'd always been perfect to those around her. But for Camille, she loved her cosmetics. And Bane found that he didn't mind them in the least because it was a big part in what made her the woman he knew. He continued to watch her as she tried to move her hair out of her face, almost smirked when she began to get exasperated in her sleep from the annoyance.

This woman… How could she still be here?

It was something that puzzled him, even to this day and even after she'd told him why she had returned to retrieve him from the pit. It was still somewhat of a mystery. And Bane knew that he would never tell Camille of this puzzlement, even though she had once tried to help him mentally and emotionally.

Bane knew Camille had feelings for him. He didn't often like to think about what those feelings were exactly, and figured that she didn't like to think about it much either when it came to his own. But there was no way Camille could simply _not_ care for him. They were the very same. Camille herself had told him that he was her rope. And Bane would be lying if he hadn't thought of her as the very same thing for him. He was her other half and she was his, the only person to ever understand him and take care of him the way he needed to be taken care of. Together they had been victorious in severing their soul ties to the one who had almost destroyed them, finally finding the acceptance they'd needed to live without the hindrance of an unhealthy love.

Camille was still here. And it annoyed him that he was confused by it, even after everything he knew.

Constantly she told him that she would never leave him, and Bane wondered if that was because she _knew_ of his puzzlement. She was a psychiatrist after all, and still looked at him as her patient at times. Maybe, after all this time, Dr. Lane was still treating him, still trying to better him when it came to his mind and emotions. And Bane didn't know if he liked that.

He didn't want to believe it had anything to do with Talia, like Camille had said after the argument they'd had before work had called him away. He didn't want to discover that she was still somehow with him, after all this time. He forced the face of the woman out of his mind every time she would creep up on him, and tried to distract himself when it would be the little girl and those big, innocent eyes that had seen too much. And because he was still wounded that he could have let himself become so engrossed with one life that he'd thought precious, he hated to think about it.

So he ignored it.

He focused again on Camille. She may not be leaving him, she may still be here. And Bane thought again how he needed for her to stay with him, if only to chase his demons away when he couldn't do it himself.

They were both being terribly selfish. She could die. He could very well be the one to watch her die because they were both trying to make her fit into his world. And she was risking everything so that she could be right here now, taking up the whole bed because of her restlessness. All for him. All because she…

All because she what? Bane couldn't know. Because then he would have to think about what was inside himself.

And… they were the same.

Camille blew out a long breath, turned over in her sleep while taking the covers with her. She continued to roll, continued to try to find the right spot, the right space on the bed that was most appealing.

She yelped some and became instantly awake as his arm quickly wrapped around her waist before she could hit the ground after rolling off of the bed.

Bane pulled her up, set her on her back and stared down at her. "I might have to chain you to the bed to keep you from falling to the floor."

Camille brushed her hair from her face, tried not to remember all the times she _had _fallen off the bed when he'd been mad at her, and hadn't wanted to sleep next to her. Now she knew why she hadn't during the rest of her time with him. "Do you think that would help?"

Bane thought about it some. "Certainly not. In your sleep, you would break those chains. Nothing can hold you down."

Camille smiled softly and rolled onto her side closer to him. "You can."

"And I almost crushed you. I wouldn't want that for my delicate little doctor."

She lifted a brow. "How can you say I'm delicate? I'm about to become a big bad mercenary. In fact, I might try to take your job."

"I'm afraid you are far too… female for my job."

She patted his chest affectionately. "Try not to get too upset when I demote you. You have a few other uses that are valuable to me. I'll keep you around as my lover, but only if you behave."

He answered blandly. "How fortunate for me."

Camille sighed contently, and felt the last remnants of her crippling exhaustion fade away as she stared up at him. A question came to her mind, one that had been bugging her for a while. "I don't know what my body looks like," she began, hoping that she wouldn't have to prepare herself for a bad image. "Do I still… look like a woman? I know I'm stronger and that I _have_ changed, but… I just don't want to look like a female brute."

Bane glanced at the body she was worrying over. "Put your mind at ease. I am far too selfish to have gotten rid of your curves."

She smiled again, an expression he realized only he ever saw. "Who knew selfishness would be so relieving?"

Bane looked into her eyes, saw what was lingering there ever since she'd woken up. Camille had told him that her exhaustion had caused her to lose her desire. But ever since it had returned to her last night, she had that glint in her black eyes that always let him know she wanted him. And it was that look, that one look she could never hide from him, that told him she would be insatiable. He wanted to give her what she was craving, but they had already lost too much time together for her training. Her third task had to be completed, and it was up to him to make sure she was ready. It was a big task because it would involve the world, involve being away from him and no longer having the security of him making sure she would be safe. So time was definitely of the essence, and he couldn't waste any more of it.

"You need to get into your bindings. I have to prepare you for your third initiation."

Camille nodded, agreeing but not moving, trying to remember where she'd placed her bindings and running her hand slowly down his chest. "I know. I'm getting up."

When she ceased to move, Bane nudged her some. "Go on then."

She only stared at him for a few moments more, staring at him with that look he wished would go away so that they could get to work. And after a while, she pulled the rest of the covers away, arched her back and stretched, knowing he had no choice but to stare down at her body. And before he could touch, she softly patted his masked cheek and rolled out of bed.

Bane could fight that look. Returned desire or not, training her was more important at the moment. Yes, he could fight her. He had failed the last time she'd seduced him, but he would refuse to lose a second time. He would win.

But it was a hard thing to do, because the look wouldn't go away.

* * *

A few hours later, Camille panted as sweat dripped down her back and chest, as she set her hands on her thighs to catch her breath. Little stray black curls stuck out from the sides of her ponytail, frizzy from the humidity and her perspiration as she sparred with Bane. Her lips, painted to keep safe from the sun, blew out a long sigh before she looked over at Bane after what he'd just told her.

"You're not joking," she said, panting some more and trying to ignore her digging black bindings. "Well at least it all makes sense now."

Bane fisted his hands hard to crack his knuckles. "You were never allowed to leave the house because you were not yet ready to defend yourself against the dangers of the world I live in. But now that you have completed your first two tasks, you are more than ready to face the criminal and the corrupt." He suddenly lunged forward, reaching for her waist but was instantly blocked by her swiping hands, feeling proud when she pushed at him and leaned to send her boot into his ribs. And all with the quickness he'd taught her himself. "Town is your third initiation. You will drive there alone, roam about alone, defend yourself alone. And in a town as dangerous as this one, you will have to do whatever is necessary to keep yourself alive and safe. I will not be there to protect you."

Camille ignored that last comment. She hated when Bane felt the need to look after her, almost like he were with his last woman. She didn't want to put that burden on him again. "Then how will you know anything? What if I die? What if someone takes me?" When Bane lifted his hands with his palms out, she executed a series of punches onto his hands, dipping her body and twisting her hips just as he'd instructed her to when they first began combat training.

"You shouldn't speak of defeat," he told her, trying not to think of the very same outcome. "Proclaiming negativity from your mouth will hinder your thoughts and actions in the same direction. You will be victorious. You will return to me just as perfect as you are now."

Camille nodded, tried her hardest to think the same thing. But she was her own worst enemy, and it was extremely difficult. So much could go wrong, and Bane would never know. If someone took her away, how would he find her? If someone killed her, how would he know? If someone raped her, she wasn't sure if he could bring her back from that. So many possibilities for the town that was one of the most dangerous in the world. But she had to face it if she wanted to complete her training. And for him, she would do it. Her eyes roamed his body again, causing her insides to flutter, causing him to eye her suspiciously.

She used the distraction to attack him, impressed herself when she caught her weight before she could be flipped onto her back. Camille grinned softly at him, rubbed her hair back before they began all over again.

Bane tried not to watch her face too intently as they fought. He didn't want to get distracted and look into those desiring eyes, only for her to gain the upper hand as they continued combat training. But the way she moved was somewhat different now. Almost like she were dancing as she sparred, sending him those little female gestures, those little womanly sounds and movements. He didn't want to call her graceful. Camille was too clumsy to ever be described as graceful, a hindrance he had tried to destroy but had gotten nowhere in the end. But still she danced along, smirking at him at times, puckering those pouty lips at him when she would impress herself by impressing him.

She thought she could reel him in. But there was too much work to do for foolish games.

"Enough of this," he told her sternly.

But she only grinned some more. "Enough of what?"

"If you continue to look at me that way I will have to blindfold you. You are to be _training_."

Camille lifted her hands out, showing him what they were doing. "I am training."

"And you are trying to charm me. You have been acting like this all day."

But training was over for now. She reached down to grab the water bottle she'd set on the deck earlier, headed for the sliding glass door back into the house. "I don't know what you mean," she answered casually.

Bane eyed her some more as she slid her hand across his stomach when she passed him, following her every move with narrowed eyes. All day long she'd been trying to get him to come to her. He knew it was her desire still flaring to life from last night, knew it had everything to do with it being gone from her for so long. But there were duties to be done, and not enough time to do it all. Camille couldn't play around because she had to work. She would be going to town tomorrow and he wanted her as ready as she would ever be. She should continue to train herself even though they were done for the day instead of trying to frustrate him. She should be planning instead of sauntering around with those hips, taunting him and teasing him. It could have angered him. Instead, it only gave him dizziness.

And made him even more compelled to win this fight of desire.

Bane slowly followed her footsteps, found her in their dark bedroom. He pushed open the door, and was greeted with a sight that instantly brought him back to the past.

Camille was standing by their bed with her back to him, wearing nothing but her panties after she'd stripped herself from the bindings. The skin of her bare back gleamed at him, the curves of her body he could never train away taunting him just like her movements. He watched her toss her bindings away, and peek over one bare shoulder at him.

Bane's desire to win the fight was slowly fading away to the forgotten areas of his mind. All he could do was let his eyes linger along her body, watch her own smile at him with that smile that told him exactly what she was thinking.

The thoughts of victory. Victory over him once again.

"This scene is quite familiar, isn't it?" she asked him, keeping her back to him with her hair high in a ponytail so he could see more of her skin. "That night in my apartment, after you kidnapped me… I knew you were watching me."

His thoughts instantly went to the night being discussed. He remembered the way Camille had glared at him, hating him for taking her away so that he could use her skills. And he remembered the way she'd undressed in front of him, taking everything off save for those alluring dark panties. "I had always wondered about that night," he said lowly.

Camille slowly ran her hand down her ponytail. "I hardly ever sleep in clothes, as you well know. And I wanted to feel… some kind of control. Something you couldn't take away, even though you were making me leave with you. I needed a tiny shred of power." She smiled again, making him cringe. "Looking back now… Maybe I was just trying to show you something you could never have. But that obviously didn't work out." She reached up, pulled her hair tie from her curls so that they tumbled down her back. "You can have me now. I know you want me." When he remained still she smirked, ran her fingers through her hair and knew he was watching every movement. "You've been stubborn all day. You try to fight me, but it means nothing. You forget I know exactly what you like…"

Camille moved her hair over her shoulder, ran her hands down the front of her body so that he couldn't see, but knowing where she was touching at the same time. She hummed softly a little when she ran her hands down her sides and hips, heard him take one quiet step closer behind her. She moved her hands back up.

"Think back to that night," she murmured to him, hugging herself so she could run her hands down her arms as he watched. "Did you want me then?"

Bane didn't think she would allow him to touch her just yet, so he only caressed her with his eyes. He thought about the night he'd kidnapped her from the asylum again, remembered how he refused to look away as she'd peeled her clothes from her body. If he hadn't wanted her, then there would have been no reason to look. But there had always been something about her that had caused him to watch her. Something that had stuck with him the moment he'd gotten to know her.

And now she belonged to him.

"Yes," he answered softly.

She smiled, heard him make a quiet, frustrated growl deep within his throat when she cupped her breasts, and let out a slow breath. "If something happens to me tomorrow… this could be our last night together."

He didn't care if he was allowed to or not. Bane reached up when he was close enough and ran his fingers down her spine, in just the way she would always do to him. "Don't say things like that," he murmured, going down to the hem of her panties.

She shivered slightly, whispered to him. "I like to prepare for the worst."

He turned her around, brushed her hands aside and replaced them with his own on her breasts. "The worst is not to die. The worst is to suffer helplessly. And you won't. Because you are a fighter. Do you remember when I told you that?"

Camille sighed from the feeling of his hands, those familiar hands that could bring her peace and turmoil at the same time. She nodded, ran her hands down his strong arms.

"Everything I have taught you… You must use it to stay safe. Even for the future, I will not always be there to keep an eye on you." Bane ran his hands down her sides, waited until she pulled his shirt over his head before lifting her up, and laying her onto their bed. He loomed over her, setting his hands on either side of her while keeping his feet on the floor. "Remember this… If you are ever taken, I will find you. But only you can keep yourself alive. You must stay alive so that you can come back to me, Camille."

She looked up at him, and wanted him desperately. Not only because this very well could be their last night if she had not learned enough, but because he was everything that she had to live for. Before, there had been nothing but a career to keep her above the water, to keep her from drowning in sadness and loneliness. A distraction, to send her mind in different directions so that she wouldn't take another blade to her wrist for a greater purpose than simple release. And now there was Bane. If she couldn't live for herself then she had to live for him. Because he was her rope. And because he asked her to.

Denying him was something she could never do again.

"Will you tell me you want me?" she whispered to him.

How foolish he'd been to have told her that he possibly didn't want her anymore. He had only wanted to hurt her the way he'd been hurting, because misery always loved its company. But looking at her now, he knew he would never stop wanting her, even if he wanted to. Even if he tried. The woman who would never leave him was the same woman he would always come to. His rope to the sky that had pulled him out of hell, the hells of his past that had come in the forms of a dark pit and the silhouette of a child turning into a torturing woman. Without Camille, his rope would be severed. And he would fall.

"I want you," he told her, shedding the rest of their clothing from their bodies and climbing on top of her on the bed. He spread her legs around him, leaned down so that she could roam her hands along his chest and abs as he buried his face in her hair to breathe her in. "How could I not want you, my darling Camille?"

She sighed and rubbed her thighs along his sides, pulling him close so that she could feel every inch of his skin. Her body warmed when he moved against her, her center moistening when he pulled at her curls and greedily squeezed her breast. She wrapped her legs around him, bite his shoulder and let him feel how wet she was for him, shivering slightly when she discovered how hard he was. Camille pulled at his sides when he brushed the tubes of his hissing mask against the skin of her neck, and traced her thumb along the small scar against his ribs where the Catwoman had stabbed him with a dart.

"What if someone takes me?" she asked, running her hands down to his hips.

Bane kept his eyes closed as he touched her, breathing in her scent and only feeling her body beneath his. He pressed himself against her to take more of her heat. "Then I will find you."

Camille grasped at his hips when she felt him poke at her entrance, kept her head to the side and ignored the scratching of his mask on her neck. She would rather feel that than a pair of lips for all the time she had left. "What if someone hurts me?"

Bane thought she was driving him to madness. But right now, in this moment, it felt like he was already there.

"Then I will kill them," he answered her huskily.

Camille gasped when he thrust into her, felt the growl from his mask vibrate along the thumping pulse inside her neck. She ran her nails down his lower back, kept them pressed against his skin when his hips began to move, when they became one flesh.

"Good," she breathed, and followed him into the madness.

* * *

The next morning, Bane let her sleep in a little before gently waking her and telling her to dress. He told her the bindings were optional, and that she could wear whatever she wanted for the day of her last initiation.

And as he figured, she took full advantage of that.

Dressed in a navy t-shirt and pants, Bane paced in the front yard by the car as he waited for her. He wished he could give her more lectures about what and what not to do. He wished he could teach her more about the town he was sending her to, just so that she could be more prepared. Like he'd told her when they'd first arrived, the nearest town to them was famous in India for its vast number of rapes and murders. Sexual trafficking of humans was almost nonexistent, simply because the criminal would either take it all, or end your life, walking away afterwards like it were just another day at home or on the job. But simple rape and murder were not enough for the League of Shadows, otherwise Bane would have done away with it a long time ago, and would be spared of this parting now. Maybe someday soon, he thought, flinching away from the glare of the sun. Someday soon, he would destroy this town for whatever would happen to Camille today.

But he would not be sending her the right energy if he kept with these thoughts. So he switched only to victory, and a safe return.

Finally she exited their home. She'd surprised him when she decided to dress like the local women of India, wanting a chance to blend in with the locals instead of instantly drawing attention in one of her Americanized outfits. The dark, emerald green fabric of her shirt and long skirt was made to look like a _sari_, although it wasn't a true one. Camille had cut off the sleeves to the shirt, leaving only the wrap over her shoulder for modesty. The trim of her wrap and the end of her skirt were printed in gold, shining in the sun and meshing nicely with the emerald green and the whiskey color of her eyes. She didn't like wearing too much color, and could have lived without the gold, but she'd had to make do. Bane appreciated the fact that she was respecting the culture, in her own way, at least. But instantly, his eyes went to her feet before anything else. He could have sighed at what he knew was underneath that skirt.

He cursed himself for not throwing away all of her shoes with heels, if only so that she would perform efficiently. The chunky heels of her black boots made the sand beneath them billow, causing him to stare at her with uncertainty.

"You said I could wear whatever I wanted," she reminded him, defending her shoes. "If I dressed normally I would never have the chance to prove myself. But… I feel steadier with some kind of lift."

"Your way of thinking when it comes to style is as puzzling as it is amusing. But only at the proper time. Right now, it is only irritating. You cannot possibly defend yourself in those hindrances."

"I can too. And leave them alone. You're lucky I chose a neutral lip color."

"And yet you lined your eyes in the blackest of black."

She batted her eyelashes at him. "Are you saying it doesn't look pretty?"

"Why are you acting silly? Are you afraid?"

Camille sighed, and wondered if she was. She searched deep inside herself, to the place where she knew her fear resided. A lot was there, but nothing that had to do with what would go on today. She wasn't afraid of this town because she'd grown up in the worst one of all. And she wasn't afraid of the people, because she knew the face her devil wore. Pain didn't frighten her, because she'd inflicted it on herself countless times in the past. No, she wasn't afraid, she told herself.

She just didn't want to leave him.

"Death doesn't scare me," she told him, approaching him closer so that she could say her goodbyes and go. She felt better about all the possible outcomes now. Death had never been a fear, but very much a desire at one time in her life. And she believed Bane when he'd told her last night that he would find her, that he would avenge her if anything happened that wasn't part of the plan. And she was strong. She knew she was, because she'd learned from him.

Her mercenary had taught her well. Now, she only had to prove to him that he could keep her.

This moment was very conflicting, he thought as he stared down at her. A part of him knew she had to finish her training. Even in the League of Shadows he'd had to jump into the fire only to be excommunicated in the end. But the other part of him wanted to tell her to stay, that he would watch over her and make sure no one ever harmed her.

But Bane knew that wasn't what Camille wanted for them. He'd told her a long time ago that she couldn't survive with him the way she used to be. He had worked hard to mold her into a warrior.

It was time to see if she could survive her fire, just as he had.

Camille lifted her hands, waited until he bent so that she could hold his face and kiss his mask. She wished she could kiss his lips, if only for this one time. But the feeling of the hissing metal was just as familiar as the flesh underneath. She looked into his green eyes, felt the beat in his heart under her palm on his chest.

And before either of them could say anything, she brushed passed him and got into the car.

Bane watched her drive off. He stood in the same spot for a while, even after the sand had calmed along the ground.

And silently, went back into the house to wait for his lady.

* * *

It was a long drive to town, but once Camille finally got there, the time felt like a blur. The sun was shining and almost unbearable, making her feel like she were burning when she parked her vehicle and walked closer to danger, pulling her hair back into a ponytail. The sand billowed around from the many pairs of feet walking along of the locals, making her squint some when rushing children would run by, speaking in their language with joyous smiles upon their dirty faces.

So many people working, she thought as she wandered the streets, checking out the venders and ignoring the calls from other women who either wanted her to buy something, or join whatever organization they ran. Camille had thought that women weren't allowed to work very much in this part of the country. But after checking out their outfits and the men that would exit their home, she had a pretty good idea what career they'd made for themselves. She would calmly shake her head, squint against the sun and continue walking on, feeling a little strange to finally be out in society after almost a year within one house.

But the world never changed, she mused, watching the people as they lived their daily lives. Whether she was kidnapped and held hostage by Bane, or limited to one home, every time she would return to the world it would be exactly the same. Camille looked away when she saw a few of the locals pull a dead body from a dumpster, ignoring certain stares being sent her way because of the color of her skin. She knew foreigners never travelled to this town very often. It was far too dangerous and far too corrupt from the lords of the land and the officers who ran it for them. So to see a white woman, and especially one as white as she was, was something new indeed.

And something that could get her into big trouble.

That same group of children ran by her again, laughing and showing each other their earnings for the pockets they'd picked. A little girl of about eight stopped and stared at her, forgetting the group and looking Camille over from head to toe. She said something in her language, smiling up at Camille shyly with a mouth of missing teeth and greasy brown hair matted to her face. Camille didn't know the language, so she only shrugged some. The little girl giggled, and blew Camille a kiss.

Even though she'd been forced to care for the brothers who'd never appreciated her because her mother had refused to do the job, Camille had always felt awkward around children. She didn't know how to talk to them, didn't know how to handle them if they weren't the siblings she'd mothered out of guilt and duty. Infants terrified her, and the older ones confused her. It was one of the reasons why she knew she'd never make a good mother to children she would have herself. She may have a maternal way about her, something Bane was always telling her, but actual children were a mystery. It was one thing to act somewhat motherly to her past patients, or even to Bane. It was another thing entirely concerning the little ones.

So, awkwardly, Camille patted the girl on her head, and walked off before she felt like she needed to do something else.

Bane was infertile, and she could never hold on to a baby when she had tried to conceive with Jackson. And, she decided, it was for the best.

A couple hours went by. Camille continued to walk around, trying to enjoy being out of the house but only feeling the desire to go back. She didn't want to be here without Bane, she didn't want to go back to Gotham City. But her life would be different now. The life that Bane lived because they couldn't be separated. Everything had changed so drastically.

She heard screaming, the sound extremely close. Camille looked up, almost flinched when she saw a young woman being pulled in every direction by a group of laughing men. Sweat dripped from them, their clothes plastered onto their bodies as they tore hers apart, ignoring her pleas and her cries in the language Camille couldn't understand. And no one was trying to help her. No one was even looking. She glanced around, saw each and every person carrying about with their normal life as this poor woman was ganged raped by the vicious, laughing men of a dangerous town. And oddly, it didn't faze her because she'd seen this before.

And just what did that say about her as a person? She'd given up on people. Had quit the fight a long time ago.

It was the only way she could stay above the water.

Camille almost flinched when one of the men made eye contact with her, the one apart of the small group who was waiting for his turn. His skin was dark, matching his greasy hair, his body tall and lean. The whites of his eyes were yellowed from an unhealthy body, his skin dirty and damaged from the sun. He stared at her, looked her up and down much like the little girl had done.

But only this time, it was anything but innocent.

Camille turned away so that she didn't have to experience any more of the other woman's agony, and tried to lose herself in the crowd. And after a while, she noticed that same man following close behind, keeping her in sight with a certain gleam shining in his battered face. At one point, he'd gotten too close to her, and had tried reaching. Camille swatted at him, scurried off.

And then realized that he wouldn't go away until he got what he wanted.

Abruptly she turned into a nearby alley, the walls of the parallel buildings extremely close to each other, a glass door on one side that was the entrance to one of them. Camille's boots thudded along the ground, splashing into a few of the puddles from the locals dumping out watery waste. She heard those same soft splashes close behind from the man who wouldn't go away. The man who had not gotten his turn during another woman's rape.

He was going to make up for it now with Camille.

And, she thought as she suddenly stopped, he was very much mistaken.

The man grabbed her upper arm tightly, with a strength she hadn't expected from him because he was so skinny. She tried to yank herself away, but was only threatened further when he slammed her against the wall of the alley. She heard him giggle, his nasty breath causing the fire within to rise. She would not let this man walk away. He wanted to rape her, and he had to be punished.

Camille reeled her arm back, sent her elbow right into his gut. She lifted her knee, shot her boot back until her heel connected with his groin. He bent some, hissing curses at her in his language, but smiling again after a moment when he realized that she was just another woman. Weak and helpless, just like the rest of them. He went to reach for her again.

Camille spun around, punched him square in the jaw before sending an uppercut underneath his chin. Once he realized that she would be a tough one to handle, he angrily came at her with full force, trying to reach for her even through her batting hands and unyielding punches. But he was used to it, used to female swats as they tried to struggle and struggle against him. She pushed at him, sent him to the ground.

And that was when he became enraged. Enraged, and impatient.

He flew at her then, surprising her and throwing her off guard. Her back hit the wall forcefully as he slammed into her, causing her to lose her breath and a few stars to dance in front of her eyes when her head collided with the concrete of the building. The man grabbed her neck, backhanded her across the lip and splitting it, causing blood to trickle down her chin. Camille tried to fight him, felt a little dizzy from the impact to the back of her skull. Angrily he spun her around, pressed her chest into the wall and tore at her clothing, ripping the _sari_ to pieces until the strapless binding she wore underneath on her chest was visible. The man pressed his forearm into the back of her neck, holding her there as his hands wandered over her body, his voice whispering to her in her ear as he reached for the emerald skirt still upon her hips.

How different it actually was to be out in the public, facing this now, instead of simply sparring with Bane. How confusing it was to think when a stranger was wanting to harm you. Camille tried to move, found it impossible because suddenly she was paralyzed. She knew Bane, and could perform with him. And now she was freezing up because her mind was drawing blanks.

This man was going to rape her. And then he would kill her. She knew it, accepted it. This is what the world was like because the race that controlled it was so very corrupt. But she couldn't die. She had to live, because someone was waiting for her.

She couldn't let him down.

The fire built, built. And then overflowed inside her.

Camille growled before he could rip her skirt, used all of her strength to buck her back and send him away. His hand tried to grasp at her, the long, dirty nails digging into the skin of her bare stomach and ripping it, sending more blood trickling down her body. But she had to ignore it, just as Bane could ignore all his pain. Camille rounded on him, sidestepped him when he lunged for her and dipped so that she could jab at his kidney. The man groaned, went down a little in what she thought was discomfort.

And came back up with a big, jagged stone in his hand.

Camille panted, forgot about her ripped clothing, the scratches and the blood, and felt the adrenaline to survive. The man hurled his arm back, sent the stone her way with such speed and power.

But Bane had taught her to be quick. And she dodged it, missing it by a hair and having it shatter the glass door behind her.

With a shriek the man lunged again, grabbed at her and yanked her hair free from its tie. She had to take one hit to the cheek so that she could catch the one heading for her eye. She tried to push him back again, only this time it was more difficult. This time the man had blood in his eyes, ready to take her life because she was nothing but a nuisance. But she continued to fight him, continued to try. And heard Bane's voice in her head as she continued to survive.

_If someone tries to hurt you, you hurt them more excessively. If they throw a rock, then you must throw a knife._

He had told her those things so long ago, when they had been nothing to each other but an annoyance. Now he was everything. Now, she had to listen to stay alive.

_If someone tries to hurt you, then you stab them in the heart._

She hated this man. Hated him for looking at her, for following her and trying to kill her. He was trying to take her away from the one who needed her, the one who made her into what she was now. Camille glared at him, and knew what she had to do. She reached deep inside for the strength, and found it.

_There is no room for uncertainty, no room for compassion. You hurt them back, and you feel proud. You relish in the fact that once they die, then they can never hurt you again._

This man would never hurt her ever again.

Camille suddenly dipped her body, trying to ignore the sting against her stomach from the scratches there, and reeled her arm back to send her fist into the man's crotch. He doubled over in pain, groaning and clutching, then spit out a string of sticky blood when that same fist collided with his cheek. He spun from her strength, moaning and trying to gather his own. Camille caught her breath, and used the heels that Bane had not wanted her to wear. She lifted her leg, sent the hard heel into the back of the man's knee, using enough strength and anger so that something cracked, sending him to his knees in agony as he wailed from the pain.

_Cowards back away. Warriors fight to the death. Even if you are unmatched you fight because you _have_ to, to stay alive. _

She would live.

"Ugly _fucker_," she hissed at him.

And sent her heel to the back of his neck powerfully, shooting him forward and onto his stomach.

Right onto the jagged edges of the broken glass door.

A sick, wet piercing sound was heard throughout the alley as he landed right onto the shards, causing him to squeal a bit as the sharp impalement slid in deep. The man struggled a bit, his throat making gargling noises as blood pooled around his midsection and through his clenched teeth. He tried lifting himself from the glass, but found that it was too deep within his gut. And in moments, his struggling body stilled in death.

Camille let out a loud breath, felt her knees shake a little as she stared down at the dead man, the man she had killed to survive. She moaned a little as she looked down at her stomach, saw the nasty red lines of four cuts from the man's nails when they'd ripped at her skin. Her shirt was torn and lying in one of the alley puddles, and her skirt hanging off her hips from the vicious pulls of her attacker. She shakily touched her bottom lip, felt it swollen, and wished she could kill him all over for that alone. And still the world right outside the alley went on. No one had come to help her, no one had even cared.

But she had won.

Camille jumped when she heard more footsteps, instantly thought that it was his friends from earlier coming to finish the job of putting her away. She prepared herself to fight them too, already refusing to cower away because she was _strong_.

Bane stepped from the shadows, walking forward so that she could see him perfectly. At first she thought she was hallucinating. But once she heard the familiar sounds of the mask, and saw the familiar green of his eyes, she knew that he was really here. Bane lived in the shadows, and would only be found if he wanted to be found.

He had been there the whole time.

Camille shook her head, found her arms instinctively covering over her chest above the tight black bindings that had been underneath her shirt. "What are you doing here?"

He wanted to look her over, but he could only stare at her eyes. He'd had to watch from the darkness as she'd struggled, as she'd fought. At one point Bane thought he would have to step in, going against the rules just so that she would be okay. But she had won the fight, and successfully completed her training. Something swamped him, something he had to ignore because he was too busy looking at her. "I couldn't wait," he said to her, remembering the amount of time he'd stayed at the house before leaving for town. The black liner he'd scolded her for wearing was running underneath her eyelids, giving her that haunted appearance he'd seen one too many times on her. "I couldn't wait."

"He's dead," she told him, almost like she was telling something he didn't know. Her hands began to shake. Not from fear or trauma, but because she'd been so wonderfully victorious. And she didn't exactly know how to respond to that. "He ruined my outfit, Bane. He split my lip. Look."

When she lifted her face to him, he brushed his fingertips over her cheekbones, looking down to her swollen lip where he'd had to watch another man hit her. His eyes bore into hers, raw and searching, staring at this woman who had gone through a year of training to reach this point in time. All the work, all the pain, all the _exhaustion_. And only for this moment of victory.

"You won, Camille," he said to her, cupping her face and lightly brushing the tubes of his mask against her puffy lips. "You are done. You are _mine._"

Her breath became as shaky as her hands and her chin began to quiver, a sign that told him she needed to rest and feel safe again. Bane peeled off his jacket, wrapped it around her shoulders and pulled her arms through the sleeves. She held it closed around her, the large jacket reaching down to her thighs and past her hands. For one brief moment, they stared at the dead man impaled on the glass.

No one could hurt them now. Not ever again.

_The same._

Bane took her hand and pulled her along, out of the alley and into the rushing crowds. She trotted along to keep up with his long strides, holding the jacket closed still and trying not to make eye contact with any of the nosy locals. Bane did the same, even though some would stare at the mask, and continued to pull her along so that she could be safe.

Camille yelped when someone yanked her back, whimpered some when Bane's strong grip around her hand tightened, and slammed her against him, holding her onto his chest as his other hand raced up around the throat of someone that had tried to take her from him, someone who'd been famous for snatching foreign women. Camille gripped at Bane's shirt, found that she didn't even flinch when she heard a sickening crack in the man's neck from her lover's powerful fist.

The crowd around them rushed even more. A woman screamed and children yelled as Bane let the dead man drop to the ground. Many pairs of eyes stared at them. But Bane simply held Camille against him, and continued on. He brought her to a dirt bike kept away in the shadows, hidden from robbers and anyone else wanting to steal for money or pleasure.

"What about the car?" she asked him, getting on the bike once he gestured to it.

"I will send someone for the car."

Camille wrapped her arms around his waist as he took off, resting her cheek against his back and feeling the refreshing breeze that was cooling her cheeks and rushing through her curls. She had done what she was supposed to do. She had completed all of Bane's tasks because she'd been taught well. And for the first time in her life, had been victorious at something great.

But right now, all she wanted was to go home.

* * *

Bane had learned patience early on in his life. He'd had no choice, considering he'd spent most of his life in prison. But it was something that had made him strong in the mind, and a great leader. Something that had aided him during all those years in the pit, and during his time training with the League of Shadows. It was also a trait he'd needed when he had been with Talia. But even though he was a very patient man when he needed to be, simply waiting around after Camille had left had not worked out well for him in the least.

Waiting for her had been an odd torture. And when he couldn't take it anymore, he'd followed her just as she once followed him.

He couldn't really remember what he'd felt as he had watched another man try to rape and harm her. All he knew was that if she'd been hurt worse than what she already was, he would have killed that man himself in an even slower way. Camille had a red cheek, a split lip, and four cuts along her stomach from long, dirty nails.

Bane realized that he would have killed him for any one of those things alone.

But he hadn't needed to. Because Camille had done away with her attacker instead. All by herself, without him. She had survived and proved herself. She had completed the training and engraved her place within his circle. She was bound to him now completely. No longer was she some divorced psychiatrist from Gotham City, with no family and no friends. Now she was a warrior. Now she was a weapon.

Now she was a mercenary.

Bane may have had to watch something that angered him beyond measure, something that had sent another strange feeling travelling up his spine that he would refuse to think of as terror. But having endured that, he had gained. He'd created, and now that life was prospering.

He could tell she was drained. After he'd brought them home, Bane had cleaned Camille's cuts, inspected her head and the rest of her for any signs of a concussion, and had tried to persuade her that her lip looked just fine. He'd smirked a little at her irritation, finding amusement in her concern over something so small.

"It hurts," she'd said, lightly touching her lip with her fingers. "I have a fat lip. That stupid bastard…"

Only his darling Camille.

Now, she stood at the foot of the bed, already freshly showered and tended to after her third obstacle. Camille had stripped off her ruined, torn clothes and thrown them away, pulling on a black bra and matching panties after the shower so that she could feel comfortable. Her lip was red and throbbing, the cuts along her stomach feeling much the same way. She looked down at her skin, saw the shiny coating of Neosporin upon the slashes.

Maybe it was the fact that she'd once cut herself that caused her not to feel as bad about her stomach as she did with her lip. She could handle cuts, had barely even felt her attacker's nails dig into her skin because of her past with a blade. But a busted lip was much more annoying.

She sighed at herself, thought her way of thinking silly, just as Bane said it was. She pulled her hair from the bun she'd tied it into for the shower, fluffed her curls some. She was just about to reach for a sweater, feeling a slight chill now that the wind was howling outside and she could finally relax. But the sound of Bane entering the room caused her to look over at him.

"Don't get dressed," he told her.

Camille set the sweater down, figured it would be best to keep it off since her cuts were coated with medicine to prevent infection. She yawned, looked to the bed and desperately wanted to crawl in, at least for a few days.

"I have something for you."

She watched him as he stood in the doorway, casually lifted a brow. "You do?"

Bane nodded, beckoned her closer with his hand. "Come."

He led her to the great living room, glancing behind his shoulder every now and then to make sure she was still following. She walked slow, her ankles a little sore from the fight in heels, an annoyance she wouldn't tell him about because he'd given her grief over her shoes. But he could tell. Camille still had relatively weak legs, even though she could use them effectively. But they would most likely never be where he'd want them in strength. They would never be like his own. Camille stopped when he held up a hand, watched him walk closer to a large object covered by a drape. She was just about to ask him what on earth this thing was, until he walked behind it, and yanked the drape away.

Camille held her breath when she was suddenly staring at herself, her reflection in the large mirror before her something so oddly unusual because she'd been without it for almost a year. She saw how shocked her face was while looking at herself, finally took a deep breath when her lungs began to scream. Her face had barely changed. Her body was a different matter entirely.

She almost didn't recognize this body. This couldn't be her body, because this was the body of someone very strong and very capable physically. Camille glanced at every inch, seeing every single change because she was only dressed in her underwear. Her arms were angled with muscle, along with her legs that suddenly seemed a little longer, dipping here and there from the contours of her strength. Her traps were defined, sitting right above a collarbone that had never been very visible before she'd begun her training. Camille glanced down at her stomach, past the scratches, and saw the cut of abs and the two defined ones right at her ribs, ribs she could actually see for once in her life if she sucked in. Gone were the slight love handles. In their place now was muscle and bone. Her face was thinner, flowing nicely with her skinner neck. She shoulders were strong, everything was strong.

Camille swallowed, and stepped closer to the mirror, a little unsure that this was who she was. That this was who Bane had created after all the hard work.

She could remember how she'd feared that she would no longer look very female after he was done. Those worries went away instantly, just as Bane had told her. Her body may be strong and fit now, but her curves were still there. Her waist curved in, still giving her that hourglass shape, but only more distinguished. Her breasts had gotten smaller, but only a little. Camille slowly turned around so she could glance at her backside. A long line ran down the middle of her back, showing the muscle there too, reaching all the way down to her toned, perky bottom.

This couldn't be her, she thought, a little disbelieving. She looked… wonderful. She had never looked like this, had never felt this way about her body in her entire life. To see it now, to see it this way, made her feel overwhelmed. She drew in a deep breath when she lifted her hands, when she saw her body move against the toned muscle.

This couldn't be her. But it was her. She looked strong. She still looked like a woman.

She looked like Bane. But where his strong, massive body oozed masculinity, hers was trimmed and utterly female.

Bane stepped out from behind the mirror, looked at her body with her. But her face was even more amusing. Maybe she thought she was looking at a mirage. Maybe she thought she was looking at a lie. He stood next to her, looked into the mirror as she did.

"This is really you," he told her, noting the way she slightly trembled. "This is you, Camille. And you are perfect."

She shook her head a little, feeling so affected, feeling so staggered. After a year this is what she'd done. This is what Bane helped her do. This was why she was able to do the things she'd accomplished. And this was why she had fought through horrible exhaustion. Just so she could reach this point. Just so she could see this prize now. Bane had helped her so much when it had come to her emotions and her depression. Now, he had done the same thing with her body.

She was strong. Finally.

"That's me?" she asked quietly.

Bane nodded, and stepped behind her while taking her arms, lifting them and making her flex them so she could see her strength. She made a little squeal in her throat, glanced all over her body like she was seeing a room full of diamonds. Bane set her arms down, ran his hands down her black curls, the curls that seemed so much longer because her body was leaner. He glanced into her eyes in the mirror once hers looked up at his. And then she smiled, smiled so big and so beautifully at him. Neither of them took in the swollen lip on her face, or the nasty red cuts on her stomach. All that mattered was the change. The change she'd made for him.

"That's me," she whispered, finally accepting herself, finally seeing what he had seen since he began to know her. She continued to smile, sending that pretty grin his way because she could never have done it without him. "Thank you."

* * *

Later on in the day, after evening had come along with the stars and the moon, Bane and Camille rested on their bed, finally taking time to stay still without the annoyance of obligation consuming their thoughts. The wind continued to send its howl as it had all day, meshing with the howls of the jackals as they searched for food and shelter.

While laying on their sides, Camille used his forearm as a pillow as his hand pet at her hair, as his other held her close with her back against his chest. One of his long legs was draped over hers, knowing she was cold and only wanting to warm her further with his body heat. And with each of them in their underwear, she was warming up nicely.

Camille had told him that she liked to be held. And because he knew she needed the closeness right now, Bane couldn't simply fall asleep without giving her that comfort. No one had ever held her the way she'd wanted throughout her life, even her pathetic ex-husband. And since he knew she was trying her best to be the opposite of Talia when it came to their relationship, he knew he had to do the same when it concerned Jackson Lane. Bane brushed his fingers over the bandages he'd placed over her cuts for sleep, making sure they were still properly secured. Camille was still awake, reaching back every now and then to touch his arm or his neck.

He didn't think either of them had been so relaxed in a while.

Camille stared out into nothing as she felt Bane's hand in her hair and on her stomach, as she felt the deep breathing of his solid chest right behind her. She patted the hand on her stomach lightly before she spoke. "Bane," she began, not wanting to start an argument, but finding that she needed an answer. "Before you left for those couple of weeks… Do you remember what I said about Talia?"

His hands still, as did his breathing. She almost braced for the scold, appreciated when she received none. "You said a lot of things," he answered.

She swallowed a little, reminded herself that they were being honest and that she couldn't keep holding things back from him. She couldn't let them get that way again. "If Talia were alive… would you leave me?"

Bane tried to peek over at her face, but saw her staring ahead of herself. He knew it was hard for her to ask him something like that, knew it would be hard for him in the same situation. So he would answer her, because he understood. "What do you think I would do?"

"I asked you first."

"But you are the psychiatrist, my darling."

Camille sighed, furrowed her brows a little as she thought. She should have kept her mouth shut. But the question would've just begun to build inside her if she had. "I can't really answer that."

"Why not?"

It was a hard subject. Not the woman, Camille knew. The woman Talia had grown into was someone Camille would fight daily if she had to. Because Bane had needed to be delivered from her gripping hands. But the child… The child was a different matter altogether. "Because I'm not really sure if you still love her or not."

Bane found that he didn't know how to answer that. The subject of Talia was one he didn't like to delve into too much. And the reason for that was just as avoided. So he told her the truth, simply because he didn't know what else to do. "I'm afraid… I'm not sure either."

Camille reached back, ran her hand along his cheek slowly. "Would you leave me?" she asked him again in a whisper.

Bane thought about it, pictured the scenario perfectly in his mind. He imaged Talia coming to get him, coming to take him back into her torturing arms. He imaged her smiling at him with that beautiful face that used to mean everything, speaking to him with that exotic voice that would murmur to him at night in the League. Knowing everything he knew now, he pictured it again. Knowing that Camille would feel like he would have to choose, he made the one he felt was right. It had been a battle of the women who'd pulled him in different directions, one of death and the other of life. One of the past, and the other the future.

But only one woman had snatched him away, and won.

"I would say no… to Talia." Bane pulled her a little closer, breathed in her hair through his mask. "I would choose you."

It took Camille a moment to process those words. But once she did, she knew they were utterly true. Camille had broken his soul tie, just as he'd done the same for her. And now, they could live contently with the tie they were supposed to have. The only one to understand, and the only one to make things feel right. And for the second time that day, she felt victorious all over again. She smiled, and snuggled against him.

Bane moved his hand from her stomach, reached for the skin of her forearms so that he could touch all the little scars littered there. A few were a little red from her scratching them, something the sun did to her if she were in it for too long. But most of them looked just like the ones along his own body, raised and flesh-colored. Past signs of pain that couldn't have been helped.

"Do you hate these scars?" he asked her.

Camille watched the way his fingers brushed her skin, and remembered the past. She shook her head. "No. I'm not ashamed of them."

"But you used to cover them up."

"Do you know how hard it would have been to get a job if I hadn't? Especially in an asylum for the criminally insane? No one would have hired me if they knew I used to be suicidal."

Bane's movements stilled for a moment, then resumed. "You tried killing yourself?"

Camille could remember all the days and nights of either being in her bedroom or alone in the bathroom as she sent a steak knife along her wrists. Most of the time, it had only been for release, something to take her mind off her terrible situation with the family that hated her and needed her at the same time. But there had been a few nights when nothing seemed worthy enough to live for. Nights when she would go a little deeper against her vein, and hope for the end. "It wasn't like that most of the time. But… I did try." Because she needed him to be her anchor again, Camille reached back so she could caress his neck. Just so she could feel him there a little more. "I used to think about a different life. Dreams that ultimately meant… nothing. I would imagine belonging to a nice family, marrying a good man. And even that was too difficult. Because I had no idea what that even meant, what it could even look like. And so… I would wait to die. But I never did." Camille shrugged casually, like it were no big deal at all.

Bane ran the tubes of his mask along the side of her neck slowly, touched one of the scars that had once been very deep, one that had been the cause of what she'd been waiting for. But death couldn't come to the ones who were supposed to live. Cutting herself had not drained her of life. Being shot by a high-powered cannon had not done him in either. There was still more for them.

"I imagine you were a wonderful wife."

Camille smiled softly at the sorrow of her past. "I was a great wife."

Bane reached for her hand, brushed his thumb over her ring finger. "A great wife," he repeated softly.

Camille turned to face him just a little, just so she could see his eyes. She held his cheek, waited for him to lean closer to her so she could kiss his face. Bane moved his hand back up, trailed his fingers over the swell of her breasts above her black bra. As she grinned, he snuck the leg draped over her in between hers, spooning her completely because he wanted to feel all of her body, the body she knew she had now. Her skin was soft against his, smelling so female and delicious that he wished he could take off the mask to taste her everywhere.

"It is too bad you have a wounded lip," he teased, pulling one strap of her bra down her shoulder. "You could be doing such lovely things with your mouth right now."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "Don't talk about my busted lip. You're hurting my feelings."

He smiled. "Maybe this injury will help you cut down on the pouting."

And just because he brought it up, she pouted at him, brushed her lips over his mask. "You like it when I pout. Just admit it."

"I will admit no such thing."

"My pouting drives you crazy," she murmured against his skin. "That's why you're touching me now."

Bane looked at his hand, saw that he was now squeezing one of her breasts. He decided to ignore her, because the feeling of her was much better than being teased by her. He pulled down the cup of her bra some, reached inside to take hold of her soft flesh. Camille sighed against him, moved her lips to his neck as he rubbed his hand into her breast. She grazed her teeth along his pulse, felt it begin to quicken along with her own.

He was just about to tell her to pull her panties down before his eyes suddenly sharpened, before he looked off to the side and listened carefully. Instinct kicked in, pulling him and consuming him completely. His senses flared to life as he heard movement from outside, and quickly he bolted out of the bed so he could glance inconspicuously through the curtain in their bedroom.

Camille sat up, readjusted her bra as she watched him. "What's wrong? Is someone out there?" Her eyebrows rose to her forehead as she watched him retrieve a small pistol from the drawer in the side table.

"Stay here," he ordered, and left.

Well, she thought, sitting somewhat awkwardly in bed. What on earth was that about? Maybe all he heard was an animal. No one knew they were here, except for a few of his men, a select number he trusted with that information. And no one had followed them when they'd returned from town earlier. But never had he rushed outside because he'd sensed something. And never had he felt the need for a weapon. She wondered if she should go find him, just to help him find whatever he was looking for so that he could ease up.

The sound of gunshots had her bolting out of the bed in her bra and panties, her frantic footsteps pattering along the tile as she raced to the front where the shots had come from. Panicking a little, she told herself he was perfectly fine.

She let out a deep, relieving breath when she saw him standing in the front, the pistol at his side smoking from use. Camille quickly looked him over, just to make sure he wasn't injured, before finally taking in what had called for the gun in the first place.

A large truck with about four men inside raced off onto the desert scape, all of them holding knives but frantically yelling at their language as they escaped. Camille looked a few feet ahead of them, saw the dead body of what she assumed was the fifth man on the sand, already rotting away with a rifle nearby that had dropped from his hand after Bane had shot him.

At least the gunshots had been from Bane, and not their late-night visitors.

"Who the hell was that?" she asked loudly, anger bubbling in her chest.

"They work for the owner of this house. Apparently he wishes to reclaim his property."

She sighed exasperatedly. "I _told_ you he wouldn't just leave us alone. Jesus…" She looked again to the dead man, his blood staining the sand from the gunshot wound to his chest. "They shot at you?"

"Only one had a gun. They would have shot me, and stabbed you." Once Bane was satisfied that they weren't coming back, he clicked the safety on the pistol. "I assumed they had no knowledge of you living here with me." He finally looked down at her, lifted a brow when he saw that she was still undressed. "And what, may I ask, were you going to do in your underwear?"

"I don't know," she shrugged. "I just heard the gun and I ran out here. I think we should leave."

"I agree. But not yet. We will not allow them to scare us away so quickly. We will stay to complete the year here."

"What are we going to do before we leave?"

Bane took her elbow, pulled her back towards the house. "Now, we will train together. We must prepare efficiently before we return to Gotham City."

Camille glanced back at the dead body. "What about him?" she asked.

"The jackals will take him once they smell him. His body will be gone by morning at the latest."

Camille looked out into the distance of the Indian desert as she heard the howling, made sure to lock the front door once Bane closed it. "How are we going to get back to Gotham?"

"That is for you to figure out, Camille. You will find us safe and reliable transportation. It will be your first assignment." He stood behind her as she looked out of the window and to the body of the one who had tried to kill them because they'd commandeered their boss's home. Already they saw the faint shadows of the dogs of the desert, sniffing around and searching for the source of the sweet smelling blood. "Gotham City awaits us."

They watched as the jackals gently grasped the body with their teeth, as they began to pull their meal away. Bane reached for Camille's wrist, tugged her along and away from the window.

"Come. Let us return to bed."

**TBC**

**A/N: Who is excited for Gotham? I know I sure am. Everyone be sure to listen to the song for this chapter. It reminds me so much of Camille, and her life ever since she met Bane. Also, I know a lot of people are excited to see what Camille's style will be now that she's one of Bane's mercenaries. I already know how she'll dress, but what do you guys think? Let me know in a review, darlings. And thank you so much. **


	9. Razorblade

_**Amaranthine **_

**Chapter 9**

**Razorblade**

"_Step inside a world of pain. I'm divine, I fight so I can break these chains. Let me be the enemy. The rules will never change." – Amaranthe _

It was going on past midnight, and Hassan was already bone tired. His joints were aching from middle age, he was hungry all the time, and while looking in the mirror each morning, he became disheartened when he would spot more gray than the dark brown his hair was supposed to be. His wife was constantly nagging him, the kids never listened to him, he never had enough money to satisfy his five daughters. And even while enduring all of that, he'd much rather be home than here at the station now.

He and his partner, Pari, were the lucky ones to be given the evening shift this week. Always on call for their boss, wealthy business tycoon Akram Samar, they were to sit at the station that housed his various private airplanes in case a meeting was called or a vacation needed. Hassan and Pari would be there to prepare the plane, radio in coordinates and clearance, and make sure that the pilot flew Samar out of his station safely. They were also there for late-night security concerning the planes. What they called the station was more like a mansion. It's giant, steel covered space was capable of holding Samar's three planes big enough for large groups, all the equipment that went into taking care of those planes, and all the technology needed to fly legally.

Many of Akram Samar's dealings could delve into the area of sketchy, but with this he wanted everything to be absolutely perfect.

The various computers at their large U shaped desk beeped and beeped and beeped, the radio murmuring to life with other flight plans, just so the surrounding areas would know of the departing planes. Hassan yawned loudly, receiving a curse from his partner when he passed it on to him. The two Indian men were dressed appropriately, their standard uniform consisting of black pants and a stark white dress shirt. Samar wanted his staff dressed professionally, wanting only the very best because he'd worked long enough for it, worked hard enough to be pleased by it. A standard handgun rested at each of their hips, only to be used for security purposes, and felt like twenty extra pounds hanging from their exhausted bodies.

"Why do we have to wait here?" Pari asked in Arabic, tapping his fingers tiredly onto the surface of their desk. "Samar is in Morocco. He isn't due back for three more days."

"Mrs. Helms is on her way. She still wants a meeting."

Darla Helms, the loud and witty local of Texas, ran Samar's business operations in America. She was one of the higher-ups in Akram's business, flying to India a few times a year to check up on accounts from his home, and to make sure everything was in proper order for continued business in the states. She was supposed to have arrived early this morning, but had regretfully called to inform Hassan that her flight had been delayed. And because of the time change and that happy-go-lucky Texas attitude of hers, she'd made them internally groan when she announced that she was still coming tonight to look things over. Much better to get it out of the way now, she'd said, giving them a little giggle and not caring at all that the two men might be in need of sleep. She'd be over as quick as a cricket.

Hassan did not care in the slightest for silly American country sayings because of Mrs. Helms.

A beep sounded on the security monitors. Pari leaned over, tapped a few keys, and was greeted with the form of Mrs. Helms waiting patiently outside the giant bay doors that closed off the station to the world outside. He pressed another key, activating a small pad to appear so that Darla could scan her ID. Once her driver's license was accepted and cleared, Hassan flipped the switch so that the bay doors would rise for entrance.

Obnoxiously loud heels boomed against the concrete, the hurried steps of their boss's American accountant causing them to flinch through their tiredness. Hassan and Pari rose from their seats, painfully greeting their guest warmly just as Samar had instructed them to. Usually the day guards would have to deal with her. Now it was their turn. The bright glare of her knee-length orange dress seemed even brighter below the fat blonde curls that bounced under her chin, framing a face that looked entirely too pleasant for this time of night. She gave them a wide grin as she set her briefcase down, enthusiastically shaking their hands with that brisk Texan strength.

"Sorry about the delay, boys," she said, her country accent so foreign and so grating to their ears. "Airlines, you know how crazy they can get. Especially the international ones. Now let's just make this meeting as painless as possible. I'm gonna need the flight reports for the last six months."

"Right away, Mrs. Helms," Hassan answered in English, plugging the information into his computer. "It will take just a moment to gather."

"Not a problem, sugar." With a loud, relaxed sigh, she dramatically fluffed her bouncy blonde hair. "Akram wanted to apologize to you fella's personally for the short notice of this meeting, but he's been having some family troubles. Bless his heart."

Hassan forced a grin. "We just cleared his son for a flight to Aruba not too long ago. Hopefully the time away will be good for him."

Darla shook her head. "It pains me what happened to that boy. Last year he gets kicked out of his own home by thugs, manages to get his arm broken in three places, and still can't go back to his house. Did they ever find the cretins who did that?"

"I'm afraid not, Mrs. Helms. But Mr. Samar has been working around the clock to do away with the thugs who threatened his son. They have gone into hiding apparently."

"Well, God is merciful, I'll tell you that much. Akram will do away with 'em soon for what they did to his boy. I heard he even tried a couple months back. Sent some abled men out to the house to scare them off. But he sure can afford it. He's got enough money to burn a wet mule."

And that was when Pari rose from his chair, muttering under his breath that he had to use the restroom.

"Here you are, Mrs. Helms," Hassan said, handing her a thick set of papers and hoping that she would leave as soon as she read them over.

Darla skimmed the pages, nodding and making a few various corrections with a red ink pen. Hassan never handled the accounts aspect of Akram Samar's business, so it was all a jumbled list of numbers and flight plans to him. She continued to read and correct even while that mouth continued to talk.

"You mentioned the thugs who attacked Akram's son ran off?"

"Yes. Mr. Samar's attempts to threaten them seemed to have finally paid off. The house was discovered empty just a few days ago."

"Interesting," she muttered, tucking the papers into her briefcase. "I wonder where they scurried off to. You don't think they'll come here to Akram's home, do you?"

"If they do they will be taken care of. No one may enter this facility without the proper clearance."

"But what if they did?" Darla looked a little worried, swallowing some and inching her hand up to her throat in distress. "Oh, I can barely stand it. Thinking that someone could just waltz on in here and do damage. Of course they would take one of the planes."

Hassan frowned a little, eyed her carefully. Her face suddenly sobered, the worry and the distress vanishing almost instantly. "Why do you say that, Mrs. Helms?"

"Well…" she began with a sigh, slowly straightening her body and setting her shoulders back.

Hassan suddenly became very uneasy, found that his forehead was beaded with slight perspiration and his hands itching for a radio. He narrowed his eyes at the Texan woman, carefully looked down at the ID she'd given them outside the bay doors that was resting on the desk. He'd never met Darla Helms before tonight.

His eyes widened when he saw that the picture on the identification was that of a fifty year old lady. This woman however… He looked back up slowly.

"We have to get back to Gotham City somehow," she finally finished.

Hassan hastily tried reaching for his gun and calling for Pari at the same time, but was cut off when the supposed Darla suddenly backhanded him with a surprised strength, quickly sending her other elbow right into his cheekbone. He stuttered for a moment, trying to ignore the growing well of blood in his mouth as he grasped his gun, aimed.

She crouched her body, sent a fist up into his wrist to point the barrel of the gun away from her, grabbing his wrist swiftly and yanking him close. Hassan yelled for Pari, but his yell turned into a gargle as Darla jabbed at his throat, sending a knee to his crotch to silence him further. With a glower, she harshly twisted his wrist, snatching the gun from the air when it fell from his gripping fingers. She reeled her arm back, sent the gun right into Hassan's face, blood dripping from his mouth from her earlier hit to his cheek. It was all happening so fast and he couldn't think, not with the stars dancing in front of his eyes.

Darla grabbed him by his shirt collar when she heard the fluttering, frantic footsteps of his partner. Pari was running towards her, threatening her while reaching for his own gun. Darla pulled Hassan aside with one hand, quickly raised her other arm out to the side as she aimed the gun, and fired.

Pari dropped when the bullet pierced his shoulder.

The woman who was not Darla Helms lifted Hassan up by his shirt, ignoring the groaning and only focusing on her job. She took him by his hair, and smashed his face into the keyboard, dropping his unconscious body onto the floor. She watched him to make sure he was completely out cold as she emptied the gun of its remaining bullets, tossing it to the floor carelessly like a woman tossing out the trash. And then, almost gracefully, the woman reached for her forehead, pulled back the itchy blonde wig.

She shook her head, letting her long, black curls cascade down her back.

Camille turned to the monitors, flipped the switch and waited as the bay doors began to rise, waited as the large group of mercenaries suddenly flooded the station. She watched them as they headed in different directions, some to the back where the planes were kept, some to the various computers, and a few to the captives lying on the floor. Barsad passed her without making eye contact, opting to lead those going to the planes. No one said a word to each other. All that mattered was the completion of the job. Camille looked down at herself, groaned at the ugly orange frock she still wore.

She pulled at the collar, yanked her arms free and shimmied it down her body. The long black skirt was bunched around her hips because the orange dress had been short, now falling to the black heels on her feet that had been hers instead of Darla's. The skirt cinched at her waist, almost reaching to the end of the cropped black tank top across her chest. A white strip of skin on her upper stomach was visible, matching the pale leg that peeked from the slit of her skirt.

Camille had never felt secure enough to wear clothes like these before her transformation. Now, she would embrace them. And when she heard a familiar pair of loud boots, she looked up as she tossed the ugly dress away.

Bane approached her closer, his hands lightly grasping the lapels of his jacket as he neared, that careless swagger almost summing him up completely. She saw the skin at the corner of his eyes crinkle, the evidence of his smile underneath the mask. Camille watched him carefully, set one hand upon the desk while jutting her hip out as one of the men went to work on the radio next to her, using the codes that were printed on their captives ID's. She removed her gaze from Bane's, looked down at the man sitting next to her.

"Use this frequency and this passcode," she told him, reaching into the briefcase and handing him a small piece of paper. "One of Bane's contacts. He'll clear us for landing in a remote part of Canada. Give him the plane number and our coordinates."

The mercenary turned the knob, finding the frequency. None of the others seemed to care that a woman, and particularly a woman who had once been a prisoner, was now a part of their circle, even heading operations such as this. They all trusted Bane, their loyalty to him unquestionable. So he did as he was told, speaking to their contact in French that would get them back to North America through the radio.

Camille looked back to Bane, ready to give him a report because that was how he'd taught her during their last couple of months in India. "I'm getting us as far as Canada. After that, it's all on you. Samar's largest plane is big enough for us all. We'll depart as soon as they ready it."

"How good you are to me, my darling."

She shook her head at him, looking away with a smirk and trying not to think about all the nights she'd stressed over the first job he'd given her, and all the hard work that had been put into it.

Camille had stressed greatly over how she would get both her and Bane, not to mention most of his army, back to Gotham. She had no contacts to rely on like he did, neither in the country she'd never been to before last year or America. She'd almost thought the task impossible. Until one day, while she'd been cleaning, she spotted one of the various family photo's Samar's son kept around for sentimentality. As she stared at the family, an idea had sparked in her mind.

They had taken Samar's son's home from him. So why not take one of his planes, too?

She'd researched his whole operation, came to know faces of the employees she would have to know, and the schedule of his flights during the last remaining months of the year they would spend in India. And when she happened upon Darla Helms, who would be arriving soon for a meeting to review certain paperwork, she'd researched her as well. After she was given the times of the woman's flight, and the nature of her personality, Camille had made her move. She pitched the plan to Bane, got his approval. And before she knew it, Darla was taken by his men after she'd departed her plane from Texas, and Camille was given all of her various belongings. She would pose as Darla Helms to get them inside and in the air.

And it had all gone pretty smoothly.

Bane and Camille watched as the giant plane roared to life, Barsad in the cockpit, driving it outside so that they could fly. Soon they would be back in Gotham. Soon she would be home again, after so long living here in India.

She knew she didn't want to go back, knew that she wished Bane didn't want to either. But because he refused to leave a job unfinished, she would return with him, if only to keep him safe this time. Camille was now a part of his army. She had bound herself to him because she hadn't had any other choice, no other reason to keep going on.

She would return to Gotham with him. But she hoped she could one day persuade him to leave it behind forever.

* * *

A few hours later they were in the air, gliding through the clouds over the Atlantic Ocean and heading closer to their destination. Barsad was flying the plane, and the rest of the mercenaries aboard kept themselves busy with light conversation, a couple games of cards, or simply dozing off in their chairs. At the back of the plane was a private seating area where Bane and Camille resided. She sat Indian style in one of the plush chairs, feeling more complete now that she'd painted her lips bright pink with her black skirt hiked over her thighs and her heels on the floor, staring down into the screen of an iPad.

Darla Helms, who'd been kept tied up and crying in one of their abandoned vehicles back in India, had come with many handy tools. Bane had handed her the iPad so that she could tell him of Gotham's current state, and what they'd missed during their year away.

"It's almost like the Batman never existed," she commented, scrolling through various news reports with the flick of her wrist. "The crime rate is sky high. Commissioner Gordon can't participate as much after becoming disabled, and the police department is crawling with dirty cops. The Italian Mob seems to be the talk of the town." Camille frowned a little, thought of her mother. But after researching her name, she came up with nothing on Alcina Angeli. Instead, she kept reading of a different name when it came to the boss.

"Anthony Zucco," she said, as Bane sat in his own chair parallel to hers, quietly listening. "Goes by Tony. He seems to run the Italian's now that Sal Maroni is still locked up in Blackgate, ever since he healed from his injuries from a car crash about ten years ago. He started off as a low-level thug for Maroni, working in drug trafficking. Apparently he worked his way up after Sal was sent to prison for good, and after the Batman's reported death. The police have been trying to get him in for questioning, but keep managing to be unsuccessful concerning warrants and evidence."

Bane thought about it all. "The Italian Mob runs Gotham. Mr. Zucco runs the Italians. We must remove them of their place. Does he have a wife and children?"

Camille shook her head. "At least nothing is mentioned here. Hmm." She read a few more articles of Gotham's spiraling downfall. "A lot has changed in just a year. And yet, some things are still the same. Jeremiah Arkham is still healthy and running the asylum. And the Nightwing continues to try to be the hero. When it concerns you, everyone is still preparing for another attack. Although with the Italian Mob in power, investigating you has gone on the back burner because of your long absence. Oh," she muttered, her eyes zipping over every word. "How interesting."

"What is?"

"Since Commissioner Gordon isn't able to do much of anything in the field anymore, a certain Detective Zachery Beck has taken on the load. He used to work in sex crimes." Camille frowned, remembering her time with Beck when she'd been the rape victim everyone had pitied.

"Do you know him?" Bane asked.

"He's the detective that was assigned to my case after I left you. He wasn't very nice to me. I think… he knew I was lying. I don't know. It was hard to read him. Even for me."

"Your worries should not concern him. Tell me what Gotham thinks of you now."

Camille drew her brows together, realizing that she hadn't even thought to research her own name. Last she knew, the city looked at her as a victim, the poor girl who'd been kidnapped and raped by their feared liberator. Until one day she'd just left. Until one day, no one could look at her with those pitying eyes anymore. She typed her name into the search engine on , and skimmed the articles.

Bane glanced down at the screen once a fierce glare formed upon her face. "Tell me."

"Wonderful. I spent my whole life secluded from everyone else so that no one could bother me, so that I wouldn't become the victim again. And then the media prints this shit out."

Bane pulled the iPad off of her lap, just so that Italian temper wouldn't cause it to break. Quickly he read the reports on her, lifted his brow at how things had been spun around.

"Police report that Dr. Camille Lane, who had been kidnapped and held hostage by the mercenary Bane last year, has fled the country in what they think are the hopes of finding her former patient of Arkham Asylum. Psychiatrists have concluded, while studying her behavior after she'd been found, that Dr. Lane suffers from a manic case of Stockholm Syndrome. Her story coincides with that of another former Arkham Asylum psychiatrist, Dr. Harleen Quinzel, who once treated the criminal known as the Joker. Quinzel was last spotted at the asylum the night she killed the guards on patrol, freeing and ultimately leaving with clown, and hasn't been seen since. Police have vowed that they will not have another corrupted doctor on their hands. They will find Camille Lane, rehabilitate her, and hope that she can once again become a functioning member of society. If anyone has any information on the whereabouts of Dr. Lane, please call the Crime Stoppers hotline, and help the GPD bring her home."

Camille leaned back into her chair and blew out a loud breath. "Harleen Quinzel is Gotham's dirty little secret. Of course the government doesn't want a repeat. Whether they believe the Stockholm spin or not, they're going to try and take me away as soon as they find out that I'm back, and with you. And just like we've discussed previously, the Nightwing is most likely going to try the hardest of all."

"I have met the little bird a couple of times. Alone, he is not that much to handle. He is extremely annoying and overly cocky, but he is not the Batman. He does not concern me. And neither does the clown."

Camille glanced down at the screen on his lap, saw a picture of a giant smoke cloud in the form of a smiley face. "I saw that in the sky, the night I quit the asylum. I just assumed it was the Joker returning from wherever he'd been hiding all these years. But besides that, no one has reported a sighting." Camille wondered what they were getting into, going back to a city that was just as unsafe as before the Batman had tried to fix it. Bane wanted to take the city back before destroying it, this time without putting his life on the line. But he would have to go through the mob, the police, and possibly the Joker to accomplish that. "Why doesn't he concern you? He concerns everyone."

Bane set the iPad aside, turned his attention fully back to her. "The Joker is nothing but a wild dog without a leash. There is hardly any rhyme or reason to his antics, he only wishes to cause chaos. Gotham City is his playground. And if you take that away, he is merely… insane. I did not wish for absolute chaos when I took over the city. I wanted justice and liberation, but never outrageous insanity. And that is the reason why I kept him locked up in Arkham, instead of setting him free."

Camille stared at him for a moment, remembered past conversations about the Joker from their therapy days. "I thought you didn't know of him before you were sent to the asylum."

"I knew who he was," Bane answered, staring out at the tiny window to watch the clouds zoom by. "I didn't know much about him, but I knew the very basics. I was not going to unleash him onto my city. I wanted a new order, and unfortunately, he did not fit into it. So I kept him in his small cell. I always wondered if the people felt grateful. Those who made the decision to serve our cause asked me not to let him out."

Camille sighed, and thought about the faint image of a little blonde woman who used to be her fellow employee, once upon a time. Everyone had liked Harleen. She was so happy and so smiley, and so adorable. Some bad decisions had been made concerning her, bad decisions like giving her the worst patient they'd had admitted there. But in the end, nothing could have been done to help her. In the end, she had fallen terribly. Her story was so tragic.

Camille wondered if other people thought the very same thing about her.

Comparing herself to Harleen had been hard for her in the beginning. Even though she'd been slowly heading in almost the same direction, Camille had hated the thought of ending up just like her, of being reduced to whatever Harleen Quinzel had become. But after her time away from Bane, and after her year living with him, she knew they were completely different. Harleen had ultimately allowed the grip of madness take her in the form of a clown, had ruthlessly killed many people to free someone equally as mad. And even though Camille had killed a man back in India, it still wasn't the same. In an odd way, she knew it wasn't. And she may have left the world for a man no one could understand, a man who everyone else thought a terrorist. But Bane was not like the Joker. And she was not like Harleen. Their relationships were completely different, had to be completely different because Camille didn't know how Harleen and her clown were together.

Harleen Quinzel had to have become an extension of the Joker. Just as she had become an extension of Bane.

He watched her face carefully as the thoughts whirled inside her mind, giving her that faraway look that happened only when she was thinking conflicting thoughts. Camille's way of thinking had always been interesting to Bane. Probably because, at times, it was almost identical to his own. He reached forward, tapped her lightly on the cheek to bring her attention back to him. "You are looking anxious. I thought we had moved past that."

After Camille had killed the man who'd tried to rape her back in India, she had seemed completely fine with it, almost shockingly so. Bane had been immensely impressed, had given her that complete appreciation when she never showed so much as a second guessing question. But a few days after the incident in the alley, Camille had suddenly found her anxiety rising drastically. She had never killed before, and all of a sudden the full weight of that fact fell heavily on her. And he had had to help her through the whole ordeal.

She had told him that it wasn't the man's death that was causing her to feel this way. She understood that some things had to be done for survival, knew that this was her world now and it was better to be introduced to it early on than to have it sprung on her out of nowhere later down the road. What had caused her anxiety was the fact that, after making that split second decision to end his life so that she could save her own, it had come so naturally. As a psychiatrist, she had so many possibilities residing in her mind about why certain people killed, why they did the things they'd done. She had kept herself up all night for a little while, wondering what else could really be lying dormant inside her because the kill had been easy for her. She could have this, she could have that. Mental illness _had_ to be somewhere for people who could do such things. And what if one day it got a lot worse? It was possible. It was what she'd been trained to think, what she knew because she had to know it.

And Bane, finally finding the answer to get rid of this silly anxiety, and simply reminded her of the past.

He'd asked her to remember the night she had returned to him, the night she had become his lover instead of his doctor, instead of his prisoner. And right before they'd fallen asleep next to each other, Camille had asked him if he believed in God. And because he'd told her he did, she'd questioned the decisions he'd made for his life, questioned why he did the things he did. And he had given her the best answer he could think of.

"_Because… it is necessary._"

Certain actions are necessary, Bane had told her one night in bed, after she'd woken herself awake with more condemnations. More anxiety. Certain things must be done simply because there was no other way around it. This was the path she'd chosen when she chose him, he'd reminded her. He did the things he did because it was necessary. She killed a man because he'd been trying to rape her. What was more necessary than that? Was she supposed to have allowed that to happen? Was she supposed to have allowed that man to touch her, and to take away what had been Bane's?

Or was she supposed to take her future away from him, her destiny, and rid the world of one pathetic little worm?

Survival is necessary. To stay alive is the only thing that matters.

"You said you wouldn't leave me," he'd told her, finally breaking the anxiety and freeing her from it. "You must do what is necessary so that you never can."

Camille was in a better place now. She had fully accepted her decision to take a life, and felt okay in knowing that she would have to do it again, if she had to. With Bane's help, she had squashed those anxious thoughts, and instantly went back to feeling strong.

"I'm fine," she answered, resting back in her chair again. "Once we get back to Gotham, where are we staying?"

"You will be happy to know that our old underground complex is still hidden and ready for use. We shall reside there, until we can negotiate proper accommodations."

She lifted a brow. "I should be happy about that? It's winter in Gotham. It was freezing in that heap."

"And this is where the happiness comes, darling Camille. You will have me to keep you warm."

Camille sighed and rolled her eyes at him, even while she set her legs in his lap so that she could feel that indescribable warmth right then.

"So smug," she muttered.

* * *

It had taken them a few days, but after one very long plane ride, one even longer car ride and deception of law enforcement, Bane and his crew finally arrived back in Gotham City.

Camille had been right, he mused, taking note of the city as they drove through the constant traffic. Everything seemed different, and yet nothing had changed.

There was no color in Gotham. Everything had been reduced to an unhappy gray, the people, the buildings, the _life_ here, or lack thereof. The Batman was dead, and his successor hardly acceptable. The beloved Commissioner Gordon was incapable of field work, and the once powerful Bruce Wayne was no longer around to keep the balance financially. Wayne Enterprises still continued on, the last little gem this city had to offer, but the hope that the company had given had vanished along with its heir.

The mob was everywhere. Bane could see it, could see the signs everywhere he looked. This Anthony Zucco knew what he was doing, and did it perfectly professional, leaving the cops no chance to snatch him while continuing his dirty business. Arkham Asylum still admitted those the government thought too mentally unstable to live with the rest of the world, and even possibly those who had no reason to be there, like what had happened to him.

But things would soon change, he decided, looking over to Camille next to him as she glanced at the city that had been her home all her life. He would take Gotham from the mob, from the police, do away with anyone who would stand in his way. And finally, burn it so that it would be nothing more than a memory.

A memory far too painful to ever remember again.

Camille had once suggested to him that they shouldn't come back here. Bane knew that she hated this place, especially since her own mother had tried to have her killed after she refused to get rid of him. But Bane couldn't leave such a big failure, and simply move on. This city had injured him, committed him, taken away his one source of relief that had been his mask so that they could have a silly handle on him.

But he had destroyed whatever hope they'd had concerning that, and had gained one of their own as his woman.

Bane hoped, more than anything, that those reasons were the _only_ reasons why he was back here again.

Back in the underground complex that had used to be the offices of an old, forgotten amusement park, Bane's men had unloaded the supplies and luggage, spent hours on hooking up their system, regrouping with those that had stayed behind, and taking precautions on the matter of security. They already had one rat to gnaw its way into their circle. Bane would not allow it to happen again. Camille had found Bane's old room that was still only blocked off with a large curtain, and had cleaned it, setting it up for them for however long they would be staying here. She had already prepared herself back in India, had long ago made Bane enough canisters full of his medicine to last him awhile. So she had no need to set that particular equipment up.

Gotham was cold, so very cold in the heart of winter. She swore she could see her breath in front of her face as she stood in their room, deciding she would have to bundle up all the more so she didn't catch hypothermia. She dressed inconspicuously in everyday winter wear, deciding only to use her important clothes when she would be working with Bane. After she pulled on a black leather jacket and repainted her lips to keep them safe from the cold, Camille went in search of Bane, who was checking the security monitors.

"I'm leaving for a little while. Thought I'd tell you."

Bane turned around to look at her, glanced briefly down at her clothing and her lack of staying unnoticed. "And just where are you going? The entire city is looking for you. Not to mention annoying little birds."

"I'm going to the salon."

Bane stared at her. And when he simply turned away, she crossed to him and shimmied her way in between him and the desk.

"I'm not joking. India did a number on my hair. I'm getting my hair done and my nails painted. I'm also getting waxed and massaged. I deserve a Girls Day."

Bane stared down at her, thought her hair looked just fine. But Camille had always embraced her femininity. He was somewhat used to it. But now that they were back in Gotham, things had changed. They were planning another city takeover after those in the high ranks were eliminated. And his little female wanted to get her hair done.

"Where are you going exactly? They have run your picture all over the news."

"The salon I go to is filled with eighteen to twenty year olds fresh out of beauty school. Listening to the news and reading the paper to them is like watching constellations form. I've been there once before and no one noticed me. And I was still declared missing at the time. I'll be fine."

She wasn't going to let up. He knew it. So he had no choice but to nod, and let her go do her business. And when she smiled up at him, he felt the need to roll his eyes. He had to remember that Camille could take care of herself now, and that she was free to do as she pleased. Bane didn't object when she reached up, pulled him down by his neck to kiss the mouthpiece of his mask. The slight hesitation almost faded completely when she placed those soft kisses along his face.

And then she had to ruin the nice moment.

"I need some money."

He sighed heavily, grabbed her wrists so that she couldn't distract him. "You expect me to remove valuable cash from our funds just so you can pamper and primp yourself?"

"No. I don't want the army's money. I just want your money."

"You are an insufferable woman."

He ended up giving her the cash.

"Thank you. I'm also getting Italian food after, and I don't want to hear any comments on that. There's this place on thirty-third and Victory called Two Guys From Sicily. They make the best spaghetti and meatballs. Meatballs as big as ya head," she repeated in a mock Italian accent.

Bane pictured the plate in his mind, and that was all he could go by. "I have never had that kind of food before."

She stared at him with raised brows, placed a hand on her heart. "You've never had spaghetti and meatballs?"

"It always seemed very… time consuming."

Bane had to eat in haste, simply because the morphine he would inject into himself for food wore off rather quickly. But it still made Camille a little sad. She promised him that one day he would have it. If he was going to be with an Italian woman then he had to know what Italian food tasted like, at least.

Bane simply grunted at her and waved her off impatiently.

* * *

Camille had returned from her outing a few hours later. And Bane had instantly taken a liking to her freshly washed, long bouncy black hair, her soft, creamed white skin, and a certain place on her body that had been removed of all the fine hair. She had smirked at him the entire time he touched her, giving him that look that said how right she was, and how wrong he'd been.

_So smug_, he thought, repeating her own words in his head.

It was the middle of the night now, and it was so cold. The old bed that they had once slept in before was still the same, bringing him back to a time that had been so confusing, in many different areas. Camille slept soundly beside him, one of her legs draped over his side and her arm hanging off the bed. Bane had been sleeping contently too, trying to force back certain memories, certain events that had happened in this very room, and not concerning the woman who slept next to him now.

But, he was unsuccessful in keeping them away.

He jolted up in bed, and for reasons he wasn't quite sure of. All he knew was that his heart was hammering, his skin was sweating, and his head felt so groggy that he wasn't sure if he was completely awake. He looked around the room a little confused, went to go look down at Camille so that she could bring him back to reality.

His head snapped up when he heard the soft pitter-patter of small footsteps. And then his eyes widened, and Bane tried to forcibly convince himself that he was still dreaming.

Not a woman this time, but a girl. A little girl who had once stolen his soul because he'd had no chance in protecting it from her. And his heart had been just as defenseless. Dressed in the rags he'd once clothed her in himself, she stared at him from across the room with those big eyes, those sad, innocent eyes that had haunted him for years. She was right there. But how could she be? She was dead. Dead and forgotten, because she had been poison to him all along.

And yet… there was his little girl from the past.

"Talia," he said lowly, a little disbelieving, still so very sleepy. He grasped the sheets around his hips, tried to ignore the cold. "You are… so small."

"You have forgotten me." She answered him in a whisper, a whisper as cold and biting as the dead. "Why?"

Bane wondered if it would have been easy to answer truthfully if she'd come to him as the woman. He had let the grown Talia go so long ago, had thought that the same act applied to the girl as well. But maybe not, he thought unsurely. Maybe the girl was completely separate.

"I can no longer remember you, Talia. I can't do it anymore."

"I think about you every day."

The way she said it, in that little voice that used to tear him up inside, almost had the same effect now. He couldn't look at that sweet face and be reeled back in. He couldn't go to that place, because that place had almost destroyed him. "Remembering you… does not make me happy."

He saw her tilt her head to the side some, felt like cringing when she took one small step closer.

_A little girl… And so much poison. _

"You can't forget about me. I am your redemption." Her big eyes began to fill, and Bane knew her tears would feel like acid on his skin, just as they had when she'd been alive. "I have no one to hold me. No one to protect me. The bad men are out to get me. They want to do to me what they did to my mother. Please save me."

Bane could only watch the tears drip down her perfect face, his breath held in his lungs, his heart racing at the same time. He couldn't handle this. He couldn't watch her cry. He'd never been able to. All he could do was remain silent. And hope that it would save him from those pretty tears.

"You mustn't forget about me. What will I do now? My friend. My protector." She held her arms out to him, much like she used to do when she would want him to hold her.

It took all of his strength not to go to her.

"Do not let me go, Bane," she whispered.

Camille watched him as he sat up in bed half asleep, half awake, talking softly to himself, or something that was continuing to haunt him. She knew that the inner workings of his subconscious usually made itself known in his dreams. Everyone was different, and this was simply Bane's way of dealing with his personal dysfunctions.

And she hated it, because she had heard that certain name murmured softly upon his lips.

She would not lose him to the memory of a little girl.

"Bane," Camille whispered, reached out and softly placed her hand on his back. "Bane, look at me."

He did, and stared down at her, refusing to look back up at whatever he'd been seeing in his sleep. Her heart broke because she knew that look, knew that face was reserved only for a tiny little life that he ultimately couldn't save in the end. She rubbed his back some, beckoned him closer with her other hand.

"Come here."

He was steadily falling back to sleep, so she helped pull him closer as he leaned down, set his head right on her chest and wrapped her arms around him. She knew it would be hard for her to sleep because of this, knew his weight on her would hinder her from her own sleep. But she didn't care. His biggest enemy was trying to snatch him back again, and she couldn't help but wonder if it had anything to do with being back in Gotham City. Camille held him close and rubbed his back some more, helping him drift off to sleep without any worries, and no memories of the past.

"Just think of me," she whispered to him, something that had helped him before when he'd been drowning.

Camille didn't know what was going on with Bane. But she would not let that woman take him from her again. She was dead, and would forever stay that way. But the grips of a ghost could sometimes be so very strong, stronger than anything physical because of its effect on the heart. But she would refuse to let him sink again. She would keep him safe, and away from the cry of a little girl. Bane was hers, and he would stay that way forever. She held him close, kissed his skin.

She wanted to believe that she had the power to save him completely. And while holding him now, she realized that nothing would stand in her way.

**TBC**

**A/N: Thank you so much for the reviews, loves. They mean so much, and keep me doing my best. And I'm so glad everyone loves mercenary Camille. I've also decided that I want to hold a contest. Nothing terribly hard, but something that would be fun for everyone. The number of reviews for this chapter will determine if I do it or not, just so I can see who would participate. And let's just say, it has to do with the hot scenes, haha. Review for me, darlings. **


	10. How Can I Live

_**Amaranthine**_

**Chapter 10**

**How Can I Live**

"_I am so alike you in so many ways. I know I'm just a copy that carries on the stain. But we make the same mistakes, 'cause we are one in the same. But we leave behind the stain. I cannot separate." – Ill Nino _

Bane woke, dragging himself out of the soft, childlike whimpering and little girl tears of his sleep and into the cold. For a moment he remained motionless, holding himself up by his hands, disoriented and hazy. He stared around the room, remembering where he was as his thumping heart calmed. He felt something move underneath him, looked down.

Camille stared back up at him, scratching at the skin between her breasts that was a little raw and slightly scratched from the tubing of his mask. Her eyes looked sleepy, her face still freshly clean from the night before. The straps of her lacy bra were twisted and in disarray from his moving around on her while he'd slept. And even though she must have been uncomfortable for however many extra hours he'd rested, she still managed to give him that comfort she knew he would never admit he needed.

He simply looked back down at her, slight confusion etched in his eyes, wondering how it was _him_ that had ended up on _her_ this way. Usually it was Camille who would somehow manage herself against him or on top of him during sleep. But yet here he was, suddenly feeling a great warmth that hadn't been there before he knew she was right here.

He really hoped he wasn't developing her strange sleeping habits.

Camille ran her hands down his shoulders, since her arms had been around him before he woke up, and persuaded him to rest and lean down a little closer. She wondered if he remembered anything he'd dreamt of last night. She wondered if he could still feel the effects of it at the back of his neck.

And because they were continuing to be honest with each other, and because she would find some kind of way to destroy that little girl once and for all, she decided not to postpone anything.

"You had a rough night," she told him, maneuvering her legs underneath him so that she could wrap them around his waist, almost like a trap. "You were half asleep, half awake. And you were talking to Talia. Do you remember that?"

Bane stared down at her, and wished that it really had all been a silly dream. A dream that Camille would know nothing about because it had only been from the depths of his mind. But not a dream completely, because he'd half been in reality. And she obviously knew. "It was nothing. Nothing concerning."

"Does she come to your dreams often? I know she was a child. You told her she looked small. Were you thinking about her before you fell asleep?"

Bane went to move away, found that her legs were pinning him right where he was. "I'm afraid therapy has been over for quite some time, Dr. Lane."

"This isn't therapy. This is…" She didn't know how to finish that, found that maybe she would pick all the wrong words. She didn't want to make him feel insecure, but she wouldn't let him sink again because of one past mistake. "I want to help. You don't want to be seeing her like that. I know you don't, because you told her yourself in your sleep. Why do you think you see her now?"

"I don't have an answer for that, Camille. Nor do I wish to continue this conversation." He reached down, separated her legs around him, and rolled onto his side next to her.

Camille stared at his back, his very scarred back because of the one they were discussing. But if those certain events hadn't taken place, then they wouldn't have the same marks. They wouldn't have that understanding when it came to past injury. She didn't want him to suffer this way anymore. She wanted him to be completely free, something they both thought he'd been before returning back to the city that apparently held nothing but bad memories for the both of them. And because she still wanted that for him, she leaned over, hung over his body so that she could stare down into his face. His skin always held that perfect warmth, soothing her now as the cold began to creep up on her after he'd moved away.

"You're supposed to talk to me."

He sighed, and tried to ignore the tone of her voice, the softness of her skin against him. "You are no longer my psychiatrist. Learn your place. You are my soldier, and my lover."

"Then you should absolutely talk to me."

"I think someone is calling your name." Bane reached over, placed his palm on her face and gently pushed her onto her back away from him. He knew she hated that, smiled softly underneath his mask when he heard an exasperated little hiss from her. But it vanished as soon as she resumed her previous position.

Camille rested her cheek on his massive shoulder and looked down at his face. He was clamming up, and she didn't want that. They both knew she knew more than he wanted her to know. And if she pressed the matter, it would only make him angry, and reserved. But she couldn't allow this to go on much longer. Bane may not be ready now to discuss with her the place where the small child resided in his heart. And she knew that came from an almost humiliation of appearing weak because of Talia, all the years he'd been with her as a replacement parent, and as the lover he'd become. But Camille knew there would come a time soon when she would no longer be able to take it. She'd helped him through his grieving period when it concerned the woman Talia al Ghul had grown into. And she'd been right there to comfort him the night he'd come to the horrible realization of what he'd actually been to her. The girl now was no different. Young Talia may be a little more difficult to handle, but Camille knew she could squash her too.

It was time for the protector to be protected.

She rubbed her cheek along his shoulder, snuck one of her arms around his waist. He would never tell her when he needed for her to hold him. But she could always tell when he did. Putting the conversation on the back burner for now, she decided to be generous. "You said a while back that you didn't know how old you were."

Bane appreciated the change of subject. And didn't push her away this time. "It is quite hard to keep track of the years while in prison."

"During your time in Gotham General they did many tests on you," she told him, trying to remember all the details she'd been given, all the facts that had been within his file. "The lab calculated your age somewhere between forty and forty-five."

Bane raised his brows some, looked off into the distance. "It seems like so much longer."

Camille kissed his shoulder, leaned down to snuggle closer against his back for warmth. And remembered all the years of her own life that had seemed to go by so very achingly slow. "I know." She kissed him wherever she could, soft little pecks of her lips upon his hot skin. She dragged her nails softly across his stomach, smiled against him when she saw him look down at her hand. "I'm pretty cold. You said you were going to keep me warm."

Her lips were on his neck now, and the lace of her bra was scratching his back. "Not while you try to seduce me. I am tired of falling for your games. I have things to do."

She dragged her teeth over his pulse, kissed his neck down to his shoulder before moving away, and resting on her back next to him. "Fine." She kicked the covers down to her hips, waited patiently.

Camille smiled sweetly at him a few moments later when he turned around. Something between annoyance and desire was etched into his face, and he didn't seem like he liked it very much. But she did, because she knew just how to get him. He made a soft, exasperated growl in his throat as he rested his head right next to hers on the pillow, draping his heavy arm over her waist.

"Redirect that smug look somewhere else," he muttered, closing his eyes so that he didn't have to see it anymore.

She dragged her hand across the large strap of his mask along his cheek, moving to the back of his neck and down his spine. She may not know what was going on with him now when it came to the one haunting his dreams, but she knew that it could wait. To give him comfort now was more important than discovery. She wouldn't attack him the way he'd done to her when it came to his past love. Because she knew, in an odd way, that Talia's hold on him was much more twisted and gripping than Jackson's had been on her.

"Don't you want to tell me how pretty I look?" she teased him, knowing she looked like a wreck since her hair and makeup weren't yet done for the day.

Bane slowly opened his eyes, and was greeted with that smile again.

Her cheeks were slightly pink from sleep, her eyes and mouth bare from any paint or liner. He knew she would consider herself a mess, knew she would scowl when she glanced into a mirror. But Bane wondered how this face, a face he'd seen practically every single day for so very long, could still make him feel like he were looking at the night sky. The stars brought him comfort, the black of space room to finally breathe, and the night wind a release of built up tension. How could this face make him feel the same way? How could those dark, haunting eyes, those silly, pouty lips, and that pale, washed out skin make him feel like everything was finally… peaceful? He could remember a time when he'd been convinced that he had never known true peace. But right here, right now, he felt pretty close.

His rope to the sky had become the sky itself.

He wasn't sure if he would give up the sky for the dead.

Bane nudged her with his mask so that he could place it right on her ear. He whispered to her, and told her exactly how pretty she was.

* * *

Bane and his army didn't care much for meetings. Usually he preferred to give orders to Barsad, and have him relay the commands to everyone else. He trusted his right hand man to make sure that everyone was on the same page. Confusion with the plans was something Bane didn't tolerate very well. But, when the situation called for it, he would gather a certain few, and simply discuss.

They were in the large commons area of the underground complex. A few men were scattered along the walls, some sat at the table that had been brought it, and others lounged along the dirty, rotting couches, if only to listen rather than give input. Only a certain few were allowed to speak and give their opinion. The rest were only there so that they had the information of future moves in the field. And since they'd just returned to Gotham, Bane and Barsad knew that it was time to discuss extensively.

Camille sat next to Bane, looking around at all the new faces that had rejoined them after being stuck in the city for so long while the rest had been in India with their leader. One of the younger ones, a very skinny African American man dressed in clothes that were way too big for him, had lifted a brow at her when he'd spotted her and pointed a finger.

"Aren't you a prisoner?"

"Why? Do I still look like one?"

"Sit down, Zaid," Bane told him, wondering how the loud-mouthed hacker had avoided the police after a long year. Zaid still looked the same, and still managed to be useful with his skills in technology after he'd helped Bane track down Bruce Wayne and Selina Kyle.

But they were the past. Now, they had to focus on the future.

"Before we destroy Gotham, we must regain control," Bane began, commanding utter silence as the others listened intently. "But control is something we no longer have after our time away. We must take back the city. And to do that, we must go through whoever does have that control. And that is the Italian Mob. More specifically, a man named Anthony Zucco."

"Zucco has no family. The only thing we have on him is his past employment with Salvatore Maroni." Zaid held up a picture he'd taken from secured files belonging to Gotham's busiest newspaper. It was an image of a sharp dressed man with olive skin tone and dark, wavy, expensively groomed hair, dressed professionally in a well-tailored suit complete with the large Rolex wrapped around his wrist. The lines etched in his forehead gave him that disgruntled Italian appearance, his mouth almost pulled down at the corners from a constant frown. A few other men were walking beside him in the picture, no doubt protection from competitors, and the police. "I've been doing more research. Tony Zucco is who both civilians and cops believe to be the front man for the mob. They haven't been able to prove anything yet with the right evidence, but he's suspected of drug trafficking, kidnapping, attempted murder, and just plain murder. He almost got caught and sent away after he killed two people from the circus a few years back. But nothing could ever hold up. It seems to be the pattern with him."

"He is being protected," Bane concluded, wondering how such an insignificant man could be causing such an uproar in just a year. "If we break him, then we break the mob."

"I suggest we try to shift his loyalties to us." Barsad stood, all eyes following him. "Instead of killing him, we recruit him. The mob itself could be invaluable to us. Why go to war when you can simply add to the army?"

"The Italians will never agree to that."

All eyes then shifted to Camille, who was usually very quiet when they would discuss their plans. Most of the time, or at least in the few months that she'd been completely a part of the circle, she simply did as she was told, would go anywhere Bane told her to go. And for the taking of the plane back in India, she had simply told Bane what she wanted, who then told everyone else. She wasn't really meant to contribute because she didn't know how appreciated her voice would be to the others. But she felt like she had to speak up now, especially after the mob being discussed tried to kill her last year in this very place. And when everyone remained silent, she decided that they were waiting for her to continue.

"The mob hates Bane. They want him dead, along with everyone else. Why would they partner with the biggest threat they've ever known? They've already tried to weasel their way into his circle once. Why would we voluntarily let them back in?"

"They have resources that we don't. They have connections, and they have the power over the city at the moment."

Camille shook her head at Barsad. "They tried to kill Bane. It's not going to happen. Have you ever tried to convince an Italian that their way was the wrong way? Especially one in the mafia? Recruiting him will be a waste of your time," she said to Bane. "Not to mention it could very well cost you a lot of men if it goes south. You should kidnap him instead."

"Kidnapping him will cost us even _more_ time because it will not be agreeable," Barsad said, staring hard at Camille and wondering how she got into this meeting to begin with. Soldiers who were terribly new never sat in before she'd come along. "How do you think the mob will react when we take their boss? Do you assume it will be _better_ for us instead of trying to work together, if only to destroy them?"

"And what makes you think the mob won't have the very same idea?"

Bringing her here had always been a bad decision, Barsad knew, trying so very hard not to lose his temper. Bane was blind right now, again. And would not be very happy with him if he were to dispose of his little whore. But listening to her now, listening to this nonsense was angering him because she should just keep her mouth shut. She wasn't part of this army. She could never be. She was only here because she was keeping Bane warm at night, trying to sneak her way in just as the last one had. Barsad couldn't let her do that. Not again.

"Trying to form a deal is wasted effort," she continued, looking directly at Barsad even though she could practically feel the daggers he was sending her way with his angry eyes. "The mob is smart. They catch on quick. If you kidnap Zucco, you have him at your mercy. And only then can you control the mob the way you want to. Only then can you get rid of them. There is no middle man, there is no partner. You kidnap him, and get things _done_."

Barsad looked to Bane, who was simply staring at his hands in thought. No one had ever questioned him, besides Bane. Serving a little over twenty-five years in his army, none of the other recruits over time had ever disagreed with him, had ever tried to redirect his orders. His orders had either always come straight from Bane, or his leader simply trusted him enough to make the very same decisions he would. But to hear this now, to hear this silly little _woman_ try to convince his leader that his way of thinking was foolish, just about sent him over the edge. It had been bad enough when the old Demon Head's daughter had called all the shots. And just when Bane was given his rightful place as their one and only leader, this new pain had arrived to afflict them once again. Barsad tried to remind himself that he _had_ served for so long as Bane's second. Certainly his voice would not be overlooked for someone who just very recently had been accepted here.

"As I said," he began, staring straight at Bane, feeling somewhat relieved when his leader looked back at him. "The mob has connections, they have the numbers, and they know this city better than we do now. If we take their boss, we will be looking at a war. But if we gain their trust, if only for a short amount of time, we can use all their resources."

Camille didn't like to be the one to butt in. But she had to, because this plan being pitched now was ridiculous. And she wondered if everyone else knew it too. "The mob comes after you either way. If war is coming for control of the city, why waste time being friendly? To kill a snake you cut off its head. You don't try to reason with it first."

Bane had never moved his eyes away from Barsad. And he, too, was remembering all the years they'd worked together. And never, in all those years, had he ever known his brother to offer an odd peace first. Barsad was second for a reason. And to be second in this army, brute force and the will to accomplish anything in any way was an attribute someone had to have. Barsad was second because Barsad commanded the army in practically the same way he did. And Bane wondered what was now going on with him to offer such a suggestion.

This was not like him at all.

The entire room remained silent as Bane went over everything in his mind. They had once tried to make a deal with the mob before. And they'd only gotten a traitor in the midst for their efforts. The traitor may have been easily disposed of, but just the thought of such an annoyance was one Bane never wanted to deal with again. The mob was a different story now. The mob ran the city.

To Bane, the mob was nothing.

"We will cut off the snake's head," he finally answered.

And just like that, Barsad felt as though all those precious years had drifted away as easily as the wind.

Bane looked to Zaid. "Find out Mr. Zucco's schedule. I want to know his events for the next week. We shall plan around that. I want his files looked into, his security details, and his passcodes to absolutely everything. Someone is protecting him. I want to know who that is. We will take him in a few days' time."

Everyone started to leave after given the signal. Zaid scurried off to run his scans, and a few others were out to patrol the city for more information. A new location still had to be found for them, just in case the one they had would become compromised. There was too much work to be done, and everyone went off to go do it. Barsad stayed where he was. And because Camille felt like Bane needed to talk to him, she stood and headed for the exit, brushing her hand along Bane's shoulder as she passed. Once she was gone, Bane spoke to him, not used to in the least to be having to convince his second that he'd suggested poorly.

"I will not let us become what we were under John Daggett's rule. That partnership had been necessary for the plan, and he was disposed of at the appropriate time. To repeat the same thing would be foolish. That is something I will not put us through again."

"I understand."

Bane stood, walked closer to him. This was not like Barsad at all. Bane knew him well, and could tell by looking into those sleepy dark eyes that he didn't understand at all. Barsad's appearance may have changed slightly after the revolution, but he was still the same man. Or at least, Bane hoped that he was. Not much has changed when it concerned their army. Except for one thing.

"We have had a woman work with us before," Bane told him.

"Yes, sir, I know. She's dead now."

Slowly, Bane narrowed his eyes. If this is what was bothering him, then his second needed to change rather quickly. He would not allow Barsad to become a weak link in the chain. Not him. He would fix it himself before that happened. "You have been with me the longest. I do not want to see you fail. You are extremely valuable to this army." Bane placed his hand on the back of Barsad's head, pulled him close so that their foreheads touched. He stared hard at him, his eyes telling his second that he needed for him to think straight. And, Bane knew, he also had to warn Barsad of his place. "Regardless of what you think, I am hard on her as well. Gather your head and do what you do best. Weakness is something we do not feel anymore."

Barsad set his mouth straight and let Bane's words sink into his mind. He'd been waiting for the day for so long, the day when Bane would no longer have to follow the past woman who had once controlled them all. Bane was better than that. They were all better than that. Do not feel weakness, he thought again, trying to learn from it. He gave a short nod.

They had a weakness now. Bane's weakness belonged to them too.

Barsad didn't know if he could allow it for much longer. But decided, for now, that he wouldn't feel it.

* * *

Bane found Camille pacing in their room. Her hair had been tired back into a low ponytail, falling gently down her back and against the long-sleeved black dress that practically touched the floor. Bane wondered if the holsters he'd given her were underneath that dress, and if they carried the gun and knife that came with them. Now that they were back, and she apparently wanted to go out for her own womanly pleasures, he wanted to make sure that she could protect herself if she needed to. And because he had a man stationed at the radio and the television so that they could remain up to date on the news, he knew that the city was questioning whether or not the mercenaries had returned. People would be looking out for him, and for her, since they still ran her picture and her story so that they could find her, and Bane had convinced her that she no longer could leave without the proper tools.

It would be extremely hard to get her back if the high-strung police of Gotham took her away.

Something was on her mind, he concluded as he watched her. And he knew exactly what it was. Her eyes held a certain worry within them, her mouth was set in that concerned and almost fearful line. She was ringing her hands together as her heels clicked along the floor, making him wonder that if he were developing her sleeping habits, then she was most certainly taking on his method of pacing. And if he continued to allow her to think the way he knew she was, it would only fester into something terrible.

"I know what you're thinking about. It is best if you redirect your thoughts elsewhere. We have the current information, and there is nothing on her. What do I tell you about anxiety?"

She ignored his question, shook her head a little as she continued to think. "It doesn't make any sense. The mob tried to get their man in your group, which they did. And he told us himself that he'd been sent by her. Why would someone send someone else to infiltrate an enemy if they didn't lead their own circle?"

"Answer my question and then I shall talk to you. What do I tell you about anxiety?"

Camille sighed and stopped, looked to him and rubbed her coffee colored lips together before doing what he asked. "Anxiety is a weakness the body doesn't know what to do with."

Bane took her jaw and squeezed her cheeks. "You say the words so beautifully, Camille."

She pulled her face away. "Is that your sneaky way of getting me to remember them?"

"Absolutely. And do you want your body to continue to go through that kind of confusion?"

She took a deep breath, ran her hands along her pulled back hair. "No, I don't."

Bane looked hard at her, watched as she tried to let the conflicting thoughts go, but knew that it was very hard for her to do. When it concerned this part of her life, Camille often went to pieces. Everyone had that one person in their life who tortured them the most. And for Bane, for many years he'd thought that person to be Ra's al Ghul. Only recently had he accepted that it had been his daughter all along. And for Camille, it would always be the very woman who'd birthed her. The idea should have been silly. Mother's protected their children, loved them, cherished them. Camille's mother had used and abused her, had hated her, had kept her in the dark hole that had been her family home.

And when the threatening notes she'd sent Camille ever since she'd taken Bane on as her patient continued to go unnoticed, she had then sent a little rat to do away with her for good.

"How is it in just one year this Tony Zucco runs the mob? That man who tried to hurt me told us that he'd been sent by my mother. If she was so high on the Italian food chain then why have we found nothing on her? Why do the police have no records of her?"

"We had only assumed that she ran the mob. All we know is that she used to entertain those in the high ranks. Perhaps she used one of her certain methods of persuasion for a favor. There are no reports of your mother because she means nothing." She looked up at him with those worried eyes, and Bane wondered what exactly it was about that woman to put it there in the first place. He'd taught Camille himself how to be fearless. So why was she still holding on to something she should know to forget? Camille had not seen her mother in years. Bane was confident in the fact that she would continue the streak. Speaking sternly now, he forced that worry away. "She is nothing, Camille. She can no longer hurt you. You are a different woman, a _strong_ woman. You have a new life, one that she is not a part of. If you ask me to think of you when I remember Talia, then you are to think of me when she enters your thoughts. Is that understood?"

And then suddenly, she felt better. They had to be each other's anchors for so many different reasons. Maybe it should have been exhausting. Maybe it should have made them feel pathetic about themselves. But it simply worked, because nothing else had. Nodding, she forced the beautiful face of her mother to the depths of her mind.

She longed for the day when that woman wouldn't enter another one of her thoughts and worries ever again.

"You did well earlier today."

Camille looked back up at him and shrugged, feeling calmer. "I only tried to think of what would make the most sense. And it just came down to the whole fear/respect thing. To work _with_ the mob does not make them fear you."

"One often goes hand in hand with the other."

"But you would rather be feared than respected. Making Zucco loyal to you does not guarantee fear. Kidnapping him… is very different."

Camille had always known how vicious people could be. And now that she was learning to think like them, it was easier to get through life, especially the one she'd chosen when she had returned for him. Bane stared at her, and was once again impressed that he had taken a broken, lonely woman and molded her into something strong, a woman who could take those vicious people and grind them to dust. Maybe she was a little too feminine and, at times, very temperamental when the situation would call for calmness. But he saw himself when he looked at her, a part of him that he had created all on his own.

"I am very proud of you."

No one had ever said that to her before. And to hear the words now made her feel strange, and oddly neglected. After everything she'd done in life before him, no one in her family, and not even her own husband, and ever told her something like that. She wasn't all too sure how to respond to them, wasn't sure if she should believe them. But she knew Bane would never say those words if he didn't mean them. So she could only embrace them. "Really?"

He nodded, remembering all of her accomplishments in India, remembering her success when she'd gotten them transportation back into the country. She'd belonged to him since the very night he'd kidnapped her. Now, she would be his forever. Feeling the need, Bane then told her that it was time for him to eat.

"The morphine is in the other room. I'll get it for you."

"Thank you. And I wanted you to know that your hair smelt of garlic after that food you ate yesterday."

"Wow," she muttered, heading for the exit, the hem of her dress swishing along the floor. "You sure know how to make a girl feel attractive."

* * *

_I am very proud of you_.

Why was that such a hard thing to hear? Why did those simple, very short words seem so foreign? Because you've never heard them before, Camille told herself as she searched for a bag of morphine within her boxes of medical supplies for Bane. No one ever told you, so you worked yourself to the bone so that you could believe them of yourself.

But, she realized, she'd never been proud of herself, even after all she'd done. It was hard to think of the accomplishments when there had been so much failure to focus on instead. She couldn't celebrate the holidays because she had no family to be with. She'd barely found a job because she had scars along her skin that had come from her own hand. No friends, no big assets. She'd even failed as a wife, had never wanted to be a mother to children.

What was there to be proud of in that?

But now, after hearing the words from Bane, maybe she could believe them too. Maybe it took a life like this, the life of a mercenary, to help her find her rightful place and to feel that positive self-awareness that had evaded her all of her life. She wasn't sure if she felt it now, true pride in the things she'd done, but she knew she could lean closer to it. And she knew she was where she needed to be.

On her way back, she passed the commons area where they'd had the meeting about Tony Zucco. And as she did, she stopped, peeked in curiously.

Barsad was sitting in one of the chairs, staring off into the distance and seemingly in deep thought. He was alone, something that was unusual because he was always working, drumming his fingers along the tabletop. Camille knew that Bane's right hand man had some kind of hatred towards her. And she had a pretty good idea why.

It seemed that Bane was not the only one Talia al Ghul haunted.

But that had to end. She didn't want to feel like she had to prove herself to Barsad. And she wouldn't, because proving herself to Bane had been hard enough. But she would not allow herself to be compared to someone who had almost killed them all for pointless revenge. She wasn't here to make friends, she wasn't here to become popular amongst the rest of the soldiers. And the others seemed to be very indifferent when it came to her.

She didn't want to cause waves. But she didn't want to be seen in a bad light either. She didn't want to be associated with the bad taste Talia had left in everyone's mouth.

So she approached him.

"Are you alright?" she asked, holding up her free hand that wasn't clutching the bag of morphine in surrender when he jumped. He must have been in very deep thoughts for a mercenary to jump at the voice of a woman.

Barsad looked at her for a moment, his jaw stiff and tight, oddly confused that she would speak to him. But then he scowled, looked away. "Are you analyzing me, Dr. Lane?"

Refusing to back away from the challenge, she countered his question. "Would you like me to analyze you?"

Barsad shook his head, smiled some. If this woman thought she could get her psychiatrist claws into him like she'd done with Bane, then she was very foolish. "None of us are in need of a shrink here."

She could tell he was dismissing her. And she couldn't stand it. "Apparently you are. Apparently you hold onto the past a little harder than you should."

"You know nothing of the past."

How wrong he was. Camille didn't know what Barsad thought of her and Bane's relationship, but she guessed that he assumed she was only here to satisfy Bane physically. She didn't want to hate him, didn't want to feel that way because it had been Barsad to pull her away from her mother's attacker. But she would not be seen as a joke. She would not be seen as the dead. She had already had to go through this very same thing with Bane so long ago, being seen as Talia and not who she really was. And she wasn't willing to go through it a second time.

"Look, I know you're upset about earlier. But comparing me to someone I had nothing to do with just because your feelings are hurt is only going to piss me off."

"And is Bane going to punish me when he finds out I upset his little whore?"

Camille narrowed her eyes at him, took a few steps closer. Temper rose so high that she could actually feel it behind her eyes. She wasn't afraid of him, and she refused to let his words bother her. If this is what Barsad thought, then she wasn't going to waste useless breath trying to convince him otherwise. And she wouldn't tell Bane of this either. Because unlike Talia, she wasn't going to whine to her lover. There were other issues here. And she had no time to delve into them all.

"You know your plan was ridiculous," she told him, waiting until he turned again to look at her. "We're all on the same team here. But I had to speak up. I can't…" Camille stopped and sighed, inwardly groaned at herself for the words that were coming out of her mouth. But she said them anyway. "I can't have him put in that kind of danger again."

Barsad held up a hand. "Please, spare me. The only reason why you need him is so that you can remain protected from the scary world outside of these walls. Bane is obviously taken with you, and that is for him to deal with. But I will not allow history to repeat itself. I will not allow you to scar this army just as you once scarred your very skin."

Camille clenched her jaw, fisted her hands, and released them when she felt the bag of morphine strain around her grip. Her heart thumped in her chest as she stared at him, the fire within beginning to rise. But she wouldn't continue this because she knew how important Barsad was to Bane. Barsad may be too blind to realize that things had changed. But it wasn't her job to help him see. She slowly counted to ten in her head, willed herself to calm.

Bane was still waiting for her.

"I'm not going to try to change how you feel. But nothing is repeating itself. Talia is the past, and will stay the past." Camille began to step away, leaving Barsad to whatever inner suffering he was inflicting on himself. "I have to fight the past every day for him."

Barsad watched her go. And somehow, didn't feel any better.

* * *

Tony Zucco was a man who obviously enjoyed the finer things in life. Not so much a private person, he made sure to be seen by the media, and the police, at all the best restaurants, all the classiest clubs, and all the homes of the elite people of Gotham that were still left, and left uncorrupted. Dressed to the nines at any given function, his wardrobe consisted of only designer wear. Suits, silk shirts, bright ties, and shiny shoes, Tony Zucco commanded the very best.

His bodyguards were hand selected. And while he preferred former military, those who could prove their strength and competence to him before getting the job were also considered. A man had to keep himself safe. A man had to look out for his back. It was what his father had taught him, even though he hadn't listened to his own advice, and got a knife in the gut for it instead.

A man had to do away with vulnerability.

There was no wife, no children. Two aspects of life that couldn't go with his, the one he'd chosen when the offer had been given. But it was easy to give up, he found. Why marry a woman when you could pay for sex? Why have children when you could train those you saw able and willing to take your place? If a man had to keep himself safe, then a family was something you learned to live without.

And why work your way to the top when the top was so freely given?

Now, he had this life. Now he could live the life of luxury for a very small price to pay. And that life came with parties, one he was currently leaving so that he could go on home to his wonderful penthouse apartment on the east side, and spend the rest of the evening with wine and the news.

Tony Zucco took great pride in his guards, the protection that was invaluable to the head of the Italian Mob. But even they didn't know he was being followed.

Barsad kept Zucco's long black limo in sight as he tailed him, dressed darkly and driving a nothing special of a truck, full of a handful of men who knew the drill. He kept his vehicle about three cars behind the target, keeping him in sight even when he would be regrettably stopped at a stoplight as the black stretch limo moved on. Gotham City was alit in this part of town on a Friday night, with heavy traffic, drunk pedestrians, and wandering cops.

Cops that would be easily disposed of.

He picked up his radio, gave the rest of the team his whereabouts. Another car of theirs was close by, for backup, and at the rendezvous point, Bane waited patiently. Tonight they were to bring him the boss of the mob, and tonight was when they were eradicate one small obstacle in taking back the city of the corrupt.

"Barsad," Bane said through the radio, slowly pacing by nearby train tracks, his long brown coat flapping in the cold wind of city winter.

"Crossing Fifth now," he answered, laying on the horn when a drunk teenager beat his fists on the hood as he swaggered on the cross walk. "He has four men with him. Possibly a woman. I'm sure one got into the car back near Skidrow."

"Minor casualties," Bane murmured, and knew Barsad would stay a few cars back so he wouldn't wind up in the blast. Not wanting to be made just yet by the city, he'd decided to wait for the prize instead. "Camille?"

From a nearby rooftop further down the highway, Camille put binoculars to her eyes and spotted the limo. She may not have been given the clearance to be in the heart of the kidnapping, like she had when they'd taken the plane, but she was content to wait here for the signal. "I'm on the American Express building. I can see him. He's stopped at Sixth now. A lot of people out tonight for… whatever."

"Gotham's version of Mardi Gras, I believe," Bane answered.

"Someone just puked on an empty stroller."

"How classy."

The wind gusted high on top of the building, causing her to shiver some. Maybe she should have grabbed her leather jacket, as Bane had told her to do, but she hadn't wanted the extra constraint. For the kidnapping, she'd dressed in a tight, long-sleeved black shirt that cinched around her ribs in the front, and the sheer back trailing long down to her ankles, almost like an incomplete dress. She wore black leggings since the front underneath her ribs was open, the thick, black holster around her hips holding a large hunting knife for safety purposes. Knee length combat boots completed her outfit for the night, the slight wedge in the heel giving her that lift she felt she needed. And because she had a few moments before the signal, she fished out the tube of lipstick she carried in the other pocket of the holster that was supposed to hold a gun, and brushed the dark purple bullet over her cold lips for a retouch.

In just a few days, they'd planned and decided. Zaid had found out that Tony Zucco had been invited to a private party tonight, settling to celebrate with those in high status instead of with the outrageous crowds gathered along the streets. And at the intersection of Seventh Street and Mason, a few claymore explosives had been planted to be detonated at the exact time Zucco's limo would drive over it. Bane had decided that he didn't want to simply kill him right then, which was why they knew the explosives wouldn't completely destroy the car. But it would damage it enough to cause injury and malfunction, and distract those within the car long enough for Barsad and his men to exit their vehicle and snatch him.

A simple house visit wouldn't work well for the head of the mob.

Zaid had neglected to tell them the kidnapping would take place on a holiday night, a night that seemed closely related to New Year's Eve, going by the crowds. Many people were out, getting drunk, looking for hookups. Feeling only the intense need to party for one night in a city that had never given them much. But the holiday was looked over. And it was decided that the plan would continue. Tonight, Gotham City was in for a surprise.

As the limo began to inch closer to Seventh in heavy traffic, Camille reached into the holster pocket again after putting away her lipstick, and retrieved a small controller that would activate the claymores. She had a bird's eye view, one that would tell her the exact position of Zucco's vehicle. Bane had given her that job, knowing that a lot of the citizens wouldn't take too much notice of a young woman walking the streets and heading up into a secured building through drunken eyes. Her curly hair gusted up as the wind kicked again, sending some static through the radio. She put the binoculars back to her eyes.

"He's almost there. Tell Barsad to hang back."

Barsad clutched the steering wheel in his hands when the teenager still refused to move, now climbing on top of the hood and blowing kisses to everyone in the truck. He yelled at the boy, threatened him, but it only caused more laughing from him and the friends around him. He couldn't go anywhere because of these drunk idiots, and now he was going to miss being in the appropriate spot when the blast went off. He cursed loudly in Arabic, thinking of reaching for his seat belt so that he could get out and just stab the nuisance. He didn't care about all the people watching and carrying on if the job was going to be disturbed.

But Camille couldn't wait for him. "Bane?"

"No distractions, Camille. Finish your job."

Zucco's limo inched forward, passed the cross walk, under the green traffic light. Camille calculated the distance, hovered her finger over the detonator. The positioning was perfect now. She hit the button.

And nothing.

She blinked, stared at the limo that was still perfectly intact, and now stopped once again for brave pedestrians wanting to cross the highway without waiting for the go ahead. She looked at the detonator in her hand, hit the button again. Still nothing. She had a brief moment of panic, thinking maybe she'd done something wrong. Thinking that the whole thing was going south because she'd miscalculated.

What was going on?

"Camille."

Bane's voice over the radio snapped her out of her confusion. She began hitting the button repeatedly. "It's not working. It won't go off. Why won't it go off?"

"Tell me what is happening."

She hurriedly looked into the binoculars again, gave him a report. "Zucco's stopped still. He's right under the target but nothing's happening. No one…" Her voice veered off. She squinted into the glass, observed.

Loud cracks boomed throughout the street. Women started to shriek, drunk men started to whoop. Camille watched from above as Zucco's limo was suddenly being pelted with a flying whirlwind of paintballs, all different colors of the rainbow ruining his sleek black ride. She lifted a brow in confusion as she watched, watched as those scurrying around the car ran for cover from the paint.

"It's paintball," she told him. "Someone's shooting at him with paintball. Are people that drunk down there? Where's Barsad?"

"Son of a bitch, get out of my way!" Barsad yelled, reaching for his pistol now. This little brat was about to die.

The young man suddenly hopped off his truck, smirked as soon as the paintballing frenzy began on the street. He reached into his jacket, his friends following his lead. Barsad expected a gun. The boy pulled out something else entirely.

From the rooftop, Camille suddenly heard frantic screaming. She looked all around at the people running, looked back to the limo. Most of the screams were coming from around there. Her eyes widened as she took in the scene.

The smears from the paint coating the vehicle began to sizzle, sending smoke up into the air as many people yelled and pointed at what was happening. The metal of the limo began to melt under the paint, bubbling under the surface like acid. Some of the men who she assumed where Zucco's protection frantically crawled out of the car, suddenly dropping to the floor in panic when some of the acid paint dripped onto their clothes.

"Zucco's car is melting. It looks like acid. I don't know what's going on."

Camille took in the surrounding area. She spotted Barsad's truck, saw a bunch of men bursting out of the crowds and from the streets around him. They began pulling something over their heads, each of them running towards the melting limo.

"Something's wrong," she said quietly, trying to relay to Bane everything she could. A chill ran up her spine, that dreadful feeling that things were about to go straight to hell. She tried to push the panic back again, willed herself to continue doing what Bane needed for her to do. "A bunch of men are storming the street. They have something over their heads. I can't really tell…" She squinted, tried so hard to see.

"What do they have?" Bane asked calmly, already heading towards his own vehicle so that he could pick her up.

"They're wearing masks," she told him, watching as the masked men jumped over stopped cars, pushed at frantic people. "They… they look like clowns."

More screaming now. Only this time, the sound was accompanied by the loud pierce of gunshots.

Camille's eyes widened as the clowns began to shoot, suddenly waving powerful firearms. Suddenly causing so much chaos.

They weren't the only ones who had planned a kidnapping.

"Breach!" she yelled into the radio, watched from below as the mercenaries jumped from their vehicles and opened fire on the shooting clowns. Their plan hadn't been a secret. Instead, they'd been terribly foiled.

_Something's wrong. _

"I know this is your dance," a high voice chirped behind her. "But do ya mind if I cut in?"

Camille spun around at the voice, and didn't even have time to do much of anything before she was quickly attacked.

Frantically she tried to block a flying frenzy of lightning speed punches, steeping back hurriedly as she evaded, ducked, and pivoted out of the way. She couldn't really see her attacker, not with the zippy movements blurring into a haze in front of her eyes. She'd dropped the radio to stop a kick to her face, momentarily forgot about the knife in the holster around her hips because there was simply no time to think of anything but defending herself. Her attacker let out a little squeal of happiness, never once letting up and continuing to come at her like a rabid dog. The screams and gunshots below distracted Camille, not meshing well with the flurry of the one trying to hurt her. She reeled her arm back for a hit, yelped some when her attacker's boot hooked around hers right before a quick push was sent to her chest, causing her to fall back onto the concrete of the rooftop with an _oof_.

"Nah uh uh," her attacker sang with a shake of their head. "No dancing for you tonight, _sweet face_."

Camille scurried back a little on her hands and feet, looked up at the person in front of her. A jumble of colors greeted her, bright blue eyes and unmistakable hair. Something along the outrageous, but something she'd seen before, a long time ago. Camille squinted, and wondered what it was that seemed so very familiar. She drew her brows together as she suddenly recognized that smile, that happy voice.

She knew this person. And then, like lightning, the knowledge struck her.

"Harleen?" she asked.

**TBC**

**A/N: To distract you from such an intense cliffhanger, I shall inform you all that it's contest time. We all know Bane and Camille have hot love scenes. And now is your chance to get your own into **_**Amaranthine.**_** Send me a description of the love scene you'd like to see, whether it's in your review or a PM, depending on how comfortable you are. I'll pick the one I'll pick one and write it for you, putting it somewhere into the story. You don't have to write the scene; that's my job. Your job is to pitch it. I only ask that Bane and Camille are kept in character, and tell you that the one condition is that Bane cannot take off his mask. If you've ever wanted to see them have a love scene in a certain way, tell me, and you could be the lucky one to read your scene idea in a future chapter. Dialogue is acceptable. I appreciate you all so much, and only hope that everyone joins in. Thank you so much for the reviews, loves. I can't wait to read your submissions. **


	11. Blood

_**Amaranthine **_

**Chapter 11**

**Blood**

"_I love you for never believing in what I say. I love you for never once giving me my way. I love you for never delivering me from pain. I love you for always driving me insane." – In This Moment_

Whenever Camille remembered Harleen Quinzel from the years long ago when Harleen had been the new, fresh psychiatrist at Arkham Asylum, she always had the image of a young, adorable little woman looking for a chance at a better life, a better career. Harleen had been so pretty, with her baby blue eyes, her bouncy blonde locks, and that high-pitched squeal that could put anyone in a good mood. Camille couldn't say that they'd become good friends as well as fellow employees. They'd been friendly to each other, but had never talked further than a simple hello-how-are-you and had never seen each other outside of the asylum. And when things had started to go bad for Harleen, after Jeremiah Arkham had made the very poor decision of giving her Gotham's worst as a patient, Camille had regrettably not seen much of her at all.

In fact, the last image Camille had in her mind of Harleen was when she'd happily waved to her, her dress hugging her body and her glasses shining in the florescent lights above, right before she'd walked into her sealed session room to the patient that would ultimately destroy her.

The woman standing before her now seemed to be another woman entirely.

Harleen's body was still small and petite from her gymnastics years in college, adorned now with a very odd assortment of clothing. Tight black leather pants squeezed against her legs, riding low on a pair of bare white hips. What looked like a red and black bra was the only thing to cover her chest, save for the matching leather jacket that was keeping her warm. Her boots matched the bra, a mixture of red and black and the same leather material that went with the rest of her outfit. Camille looked up into her face again, tried to remember the young woman of the past.

All she could see was a clown.

Harleen's blonde hair was pulled into pigtails, giving her that innocent look she'd once carried so well, but possibly didn't deserve now. Her face was coated evenly with white greasepaint, her eyes circled with black, her lips painted red. Nothing seemed to be out of place, nothing seemed to smear. This woman had turned into something she hadn't been before.

This poor woman had turned into that extension of the Joker Camille knew she'd become.

She may not have been around or involved during Harleen's inappropriate therapy sessions, but she could see now what that man had done to her.

"Harleen," she said again, too busy looking at this woman of the past to lift herself from the floor. Too busy staring at a mind that had been broken. "Harleen… It's Camille. Do you remember me?"

Harleen flinched a little at the foreign use of her given name, but placed her hands on her hips and leaned forward, squinting her eyes as she inspected.

"Camille?" She puckered her lips and pushed them to the side, racking her brain until it sparked. "_Camille_? Holy cannoli, Camille Lane, is that you?"

Camille slowly nodded, watched as Harleen let out a laugh and slapped her knee.

"Oh man, what the heck are you doing up here? Are you a part of all that?" she asked, jerking her thumb behind her where the gunshots below on the street still boomed, where screams still shrieked.

Camille remained silent. She didn't really know what to say, didn't yet know how she should handle the situation. She could hear from her tossed radio somewhere on the rooftop all the orders that were being given, all the commands she couldn't respond to because she'd been ambushed by what seemed to be their competitors when it came to the kidnapping of Tony Zucco.

The few moments where Camille was silent gave Harleen a chance to run everything through her brain. She put her finger on her chin, remembered the news, remembered the papers on her old acquaintance. She let out a knowing hum in her throat, nodded a little. "Camille Lane. _Oh_, I know what happened to you. Everyone talks about you around here. But if you're here, then you must be with the big guy…" More knowledge dawned on her. Her eyebrows shot up, her mouth gasped. "Nah, I knew those stories weren't true! Hey, that asylum should go into the matchmaking business, huh? Am I right?"

Camille looked into her eyes, and knew something wasn't quite right. Everyone knew that Harleen Quinzel had had her mind twisted once she'd been given her cherished patient. Camille could see the effects now, and it was anything but fixable. And it saddened her some to know it. "What happened to you, Harleen?"

"Ugh, please don't use that name. Call me Harley. I like it better. Mr. J calls me that."

"Mr. J? The Joker?"

"The one and only!" she answered happily. "And what do you mean, what happened? I clocked in one day, and never clocked out." She giggled at the joke.

Camille thought maybe she should have felt silly still sitting here on her butt after a knockdown when she should be on her feet and trying to get back to Bane. But she couldn't move away. She had to know what had become of Gotham's dirty little secret. "Why did you kill those people? Why did you let him out?"

"Why did I let Mr. J out? Because he asked me to. Duh." Harley crossed her arms, made a face like Camille had asked a stupid question. "But I guess for old times' sake… I shot the guards so I could take Mr. J away. He needed me. He needs me a lot. He wasn't happy there, you know. And I couldn't bear to see him unhappy. So I let him out, and left with him. I know people don't understand, but he loves me."

Camille drew her brows together, shook her head a little. "The Joker… loves you?"

"Of course he does! I'm his girl. I know he can be a little rough around the edges sometimes, and I know I can get in the way a lot, but I can handle it. It's not all the time I get in trouble. For the most part he's a pretty happy guy now that he has me. We were made for each other." Harley smiled, turned her head to look down at the chaos. The wail of police sirens was getting closer, but it didn't concern her in the least. "Hey, it's kind of funny that we were both going after the big Z, huh? But as soon as we found out that someone else was gonna try to steal the prize, of course we had to say no. Gotham belongs to Mr. J. So hopefully your man will get the picture and go terrorize another fun city, yeah?"

So it really would be a war, Camille thought, clarifying that she'd been right when she'd wondered if Bane would have to take on the Joker as well as the mob. She had to get back to him now. If Harley was smart, as well as crazy, then Camille was not in a safe place right now.

"And don't worry about your bombs not going off," Harley continued, waving her hand at Camille. "Big Tony wasn't in there anyway. So now this is all for fun." Harley walked over to Camille's screaming radio, stomped on it with one heavy leather boot. "I guess we can chat for a few moments before Mr. J decides if I should kill you or not. He's pretty excited about this whole Bane thing. Can't wait to meet the man himself. But who woulda thought? Two fine ladies such as ourselves from the same joint leaving with the two men Gotham can never forget. They say you got a wicked case of Stockholm Syndrome. They don't say that crap about me. To them, I'm just crazy!"

Slowly, Camille stood. The sheer back of her shirt blew in the wind as the police started shouting from below. Any moment now there would be a helicopter. Any moment now, they would know where she was, and that Bane was back. She had to get off the roof. She had to get away from this woman. Camille spotted a nasty bruise around Harley's arm above her shoulder, in the print of a hand. The Joker was rough around the edges, Harley had told her. And, unfortunately for her, she seemed to get in the way a lot.

Camille could tell exactly what kind of relationship the two clowns had.

But she couldn't help Harley. She couldn't then, during their asylum days, and she couldn't now. But she still found it difficult to leave her, and without answers. Bane would need answers.

"Does the Joker hurt you, Harleen? Sorry," she said, holding up her hands and correcting herself. It was better for her to keep the other woman calm. "Harley."

"He doesn't mean to. He just gets angry sometimes. He loves me. He does."

He doesn't, Camille accepted, feeling a little sorrow in it. And whatever worry she'd had when thinking about the similarities between her and Harley, they washed away like a flood.

"Doesn't the big guy love you?"

And then suddenly, Camille was at a loss for words. She knew she'd thought of this very question once before. But she had just kept it at the corner of her mind, not really caring because she was where she needed to be anyway. But to hear someone else ask her, to hear the words coming out of another woman's mouth, made Camille's chest feel tight, made her feel like she didn't know what she was doing. Each word Harley had said repeated in her mind slowly, carefully, almost like a nightmare, almost like a bad thought. Why was she feeling like this now? Why were such small, insignificant words confusing her? She looked back at Harley, at what her love had done to her, and wondered… if she looked the same way.

"I guess we'll save the girl talk for later," Harley muttered, flinching a little at how sad the other woman was for not knowing an easy answer. "I'm gonna bring you in now, sweet face. Mr. J's gonna want to see you."

Camille used everything in her to block out the question that had had an odd effect on her, and decided that it was time to leave. Bane wouldn't want her in the midst of bad company. "I'm afraid I can't do that, Harley. I have my own boss I need to get back to."

Harley giggled. "Now, I really don't want to have to use my friend here," she said coolly, reaching behind near her belt and pulling out a hammer that had been through one of the loops. Camille could see the nasty smears of blood along the metal. "But if I gotta bash your head in, then I guess a girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do. I'll tell ya what, you come with me nicely, and I promise I'll have a word with Mr. J to make it quick. For old times' sake," she repeated with a smile.

And when Camille shook her head, Harley raised the hammer, shrugged, and took a few steps forward.

Both ladies shrieked when the edge of the rooftop cracked, pieces of concrete flying into the air as a grappling hook snatched the side. They both looked up as a dark form summersaulted into the air, making a graceful landing right in the middle of them. Wispy black hair floated in the wind, the dark form now appearing with a streak of royal blue across the chest. A mask covered his eyes, one Camille knew would be there as she stared at his back. Maybe he should have been there to take her away for a failed kidnapping. Instead, he was there to protect her.

The Nightwing felt responsible for her fall into the hands of Bane. And he believed all the lies.

Harley groaned loudly, stomping her foot. "Listen here, _birdie_, I've just about had enough of you." She twirled the hammer through her fingers, glared at the young hero who would be the new one to cause her lover problems. "This is our dance. You're not invited. And neither is she!"

"Stay calm, Camille," the Nightwing told her, shielding her. Continuing to think of her as just that poor, sad little woman who'd been stolen away by the wrong man. "Don't let her scare you. She's all talk, anyway."

"All talk," Harley repeated slowly, then quickly pulled out a gun from the holster and aimed. "Let's talk about this."

The Nightwing flipped out of the path of the bullets, using his speed and agility to dodge, and get a little closer to the source. And before Harley could attack him once she ran out of ammo, the loud eruption of the blades of a helicopter boomed above them, the harsh light glaring down into the midst of the fight. Harley shouted something, the Nightwing continued to try to bring her down, and Camille only looked up. She squinted a little from the wind of the blades, heard the voice above from the microphone telling everyone to drop all weapons and get on the ground.

The police would know she was here now. No more hiding.

The Nightwing ignored them too, thinking only to disarm and apprehend Harley Quinn. He glanced behind him to make sure Camille was still safe. And saw that she was gone.

He really hoped she was running to the police. And if she wasn't, then he would find her again and bring her home.

Camille frantically ran down the flights of stairs towards ground level, her hair trailing behind her as she tried desperately not to trip. There was a riot on the street she knew, a riot she had to get out of in fear that she would be snatched by the first cop to recognize her. She was sure the Nightwing was going to take her away, felt almost thankful to Harley for distracting him, and giving her an exit away from her too. But she didn't know where Bane was, didn't know what had become of the mercenaries that had been on the street at the time the Joker's men had attacked a vehicle Tony Zucco hadn't been inside in the first place. Her heart pounded in her chest, her breath heaved from her mouth.

And then she screamed, screamed when she heard the loud, piercing laugh of the Joker that boomed throughout the city on loud speakers.

Here I am, he was telling Gotham. I'm back, and here to stay this time.

Camille burst through the doors of the building, saw that riot on the street right in front of her eyes. Cops were attacking clowns who were attacking mobsters who were attacking mercenaries. It was mayhem, and she was right in the middle.

War, she thought. We've started a war.

A truck boomed its horn on the street, not caring about the riots, not caring about the shooting clowns or the righteous cops. It swerved through the cluster, hit the squeaking brakes on the street a few feet in front of her. Camille ran blindly then, through the struggle, through the war. She heard the laugh again, heard the similar giggle from a crazy woman on top of the roof.

Bane opened the back door to the truck as she continued to run, held his arms out and scooped her up once she got to him.

"You have a radio for a reason," he said to her, slight anger in his voice as Barsad slammed his foot down on the gas.

"I'm sorry. She broke it."

"Who did?"

Camille let out a fast breath, shook her head. "You'll never even guess."

* * *

She wanted to be called Harley Quinn now. The doctor from so long ago was dead, dead in the mind from the twisted ways of seduction. Whatever had resided in the young woman who only wanted to make it big in her chosen career was just as dead. Dead and gone.

Bane stared down at a picture of her, one Zaid had gotten from police files that had never been backed up. He couldn't really tell what to think of her. At one point, she'd probably seemed incredibly sweet. She still did, in an odd way.

But past sweetness had turned into terrifying insanity.

Harley Quinn. The woman behind the clown. Wasn't there always an insane woman behind an insane man? Bane didn't want to have to deal with two crazy clowns that wanted to take away his glory. And because they'd tried, because they'd foiled him and had screwed everything up, they would know the effects of his fury.

He'd told Camille that the Joker didn't bother him. He still didn't, not in a way that would cause him to plan completely around him. But now, after that paintball stunt last night, he would have to take him into a little more consideration than he'd thought.

But a clown was nothing. A clown was just an annoying character that could easily be taken care of.

If it was war, then Bane was sure he'd come out victorious.

Camille had relayed the entire conversation with this Harley Quinn to him after they'd arrived back at the complex. She told him her thoughts on the woman, told her what she'd known of her from the past a little more extensively than what she'd already told him, although it wasn't much. Camille didn't really have any kind of relationship with anyone else besides him, even before she'd met him. So her information could have been disappointing.

But Bane knew her, and was confident that she would get to the bottom of this woman who assumed the infamous Joker was in love with her.

Camille had also informed him that the Nightwing had showed up, still in his same uniform, still with his fancy flips and flying feet. Bane and Camille knew before coming here that they would have to prepare for him. Not only when it concerned their takeover of Gotham, but also preparing for the fact that he would try to take her away. The city planned to rehabilitate Camille, almost like a spit in the face to him, and to the Joker for ruining someone they hadn't been able to save. But the Nightwing was had no idea what he was going up against. The young hero believed a lie. And that lie would hinder him, and cause him to fail.

Camille was not like Harley Quinn. Camille was perfectly sane, perfectly smart. And his.

Bane placed the picture down, tired of looking at the happy grin of the insane, and rubbed his sleepy eyes.

And when remembering the cause of his sleepiness, he thought carefully, rose from his chair, and went in search of something he hadn't seen in a very long time.

Practically all of his things had remained here, since before the revolution and after they'd returned from India. Bane hadn't brought them along because they were just another job, just most useless things to worry about during their travels. But in some of these boxes, boxes that hadn't been rifled through in over a year, boxes Camille didn't even know about, held memories from long ago.

Maybe it was just a one-time thing. Maybe there was nothing wrong, and it was just a bad dream caused by jetlag from their traveling across the globe. Bane didn't want to think he was going back to that place, that place he'd locked away because he couldn't live in it anymore. If he had continued to dwell there, then he most certainly would have died in grief.

He wasn't supposed to be seeing Talia, whether she was a little girl or the woman he'd used to love. She was supposed to be gone, dead in his heart just as she was on the world. He couldn't allow that weakness to hinder him again. He had things to do, things that didn't include her anymore.

So then why had he seen her face, that precious little face that had been redemption in the pit of hell?

Bane opened one of the boxes, reached inside the depths of what he'd used to carry with him because he'd needed them as an anchor. And pulled out the only thing he had of his little girl.

The blanket had belonged to Talia's mother, rough to the touch now and its once vibrant Middle Eastern design faded. Bane could remember the day she'd been lowered into the pit, her stomach still mostly flat even though a child lived inside, the blanket wrapped around her form so that she could have something to give to her needy baby when she would finally be born. Talia had been wrapped into the blanket when she'd been delivered, and had snuggled into it at night as she'd grown. After her mother had been killed, Bane had retrieved the blanket from the cell, giving it to Talia so that she could have something familiar, something to remember the mother that had tried her very hardest to raise a child in prison. And when Talia had left him, and then after they'd been reunited and he a very sick man, she'd given the cloth to him, in hopes that it would comfort him.

Bane had kept it always, wherever he went, for however long he would be away from Talia. And to see it now, to hold the rough fabric in his hands after everything he'd been through in the recent year, was very strange.

And almost uncomfortable.

Memories flooded him, consumed him, and held tight. Not of the woman. She still meant nothing to him now. But of the little one who used to cry on his shoulder. The baby that had been the world.

The girl that had once been his.

"You taught me how to play the guitar."

Her small voice didn't even cause him to flinch. Didn't even cause him to worry when he told himself that this time he wasn't dreaming, wasn't sleeping. Maybe he should have panicked that he was still hearing her, still feeling her, and able to see the little body kneeling next to him.

But it was just another complexity he would have to fight. Her claws would not sink into him again.

"Do you remember?" she asked, scooting a little closer to him and peering at the blanket in his hands. "You would play for me to help me go to sleep. When I would have nightmares."

Bane couldn't look at her, couldn't look at those big eyes. But he couldn't stop those very memories from entering his mind. And making him… upset. "You are a nightmare," he said quietly, his mask hissing, that constant reminder of what he'd done for her.

"I'm not. I'm trying to get you back. I need you to take care of me. You were always the one who took care of me the best."

"You had a mother. And she…" Bane gripped the blanket, remembered her mother being lowered into the pit again. Little had he known it would bind him to torture for years. "She left me to bear her burden."

"Is that what you think of me now? As a burden?"

"You ruined me, Talia."

"Do not blame me for what the woman did to you." Bane felt her inch closer, and God, he could actually feel it. "How could you say that to me? How could you treat me this way? You used to tell me you loved me. You used to tell me I was as pretty as a star."

Bane found himself holding his breath as he felt hers on his cheek. But how was this possible? How could he be feeling her, seeing her, hearing her? It was torture all over again. And when he felt her small hand rest on his heart, his beating heart, he found himself paralyzed in her touch.

"You think this belongs to someone else," she whispered to him, grasping at his chest where his heart was. "But this died the day I did. And if you think that woman can save you from me… then you are not as strong as I thought you were."

"Why won't you leave me alone?" He wouldn't look at her. He couldn't. Not when she was saying those things. Not when it was a possibility he would come undone if he did.

"Because, my friend, you feel…" She kissed his cheek softly, causing him to remember even more, making him feel like he was suffocating. "Guilty."

And then she was gone. And then he could finally breathe.

Bane stuffed the blanket back in the depths of the box, regretting immensely that he'd taken it out to begin with. A slight worry came over him, a worry that always came with Talia. But he didn't need Talia, didn't want to need her. She thought Camille could save him. Or at least, that was what he thought when he'd heard the words.

_As pretty as a star_.

He needed to find Camille, if only to remember different times. Times that had changed.

* * *

"You won't tell me what's bothering you. Why?"

Bane looked over at Camille, standing there with her arms crossed, wearing a black military jacket, a corset top, and dark skinny jeans. He stared at her dark red lips as he sat at the desk, the IV stand at his side and a needle in his vein pumping morphine. The sleeves of his brown long-sleeved shirt were rolled up as he injected himself, finding the need to be without the mask for just a few moments so that he could stop thinking about Talia. He needed a distraction. And this, he found, was sufficient enough.

"Are you in pain?" Camille asked him, knowing the mask didn't completely get rid of it.

Bane looked back down at the needle. "I am constantly in pain."

She frowned. "But you're used to it. Something else is bothering you. Why won't you tell me?"

"I do this every day, Camille."

"I feed you, don't I? I know when you eat. And it's not the time."

Bane sighed, looked at her again. Whatever it was in his subconscious in the form of Talia was now bringing her into it. And he didn't like that at all. Camille was supposed to be kept completely separate from Talia. But maybe Camille didn't know that she was the only thing keeping him above the waters his little girl would try to drown him in. Bane knew it wasn't time to eat. And normally he wouldn't use morphine for any other act besides that. But for right now, he needed to break the rules.

"I want to kiss you."

Camille stared at him, her hard and searching gaze softening. It must have been another Talia episode, she figured. It must be, because Bane would never go to drugs for the simple act of a kiss otherwise. But he still didn't want to talk about it, and she would continue to wait. She had to think more if she was going to help him through it again. She had to come up with her own plan if the time never came when he would come to her. But she would be patient, and she would be there for him. She remembered how terribly alone Bane had felt when he'd finally realized how Talia truly felt for him, and would refuse to let him feel that way again.

Maybe he didn't know that she knew what was going on. And for now, it would be better that way.

"I thought kissing you was a privilege."

"It is," he said with a soft smile, pulling the needle from his skin. "I am feeling very generous."

"There must be a way for you to be without the mask longer."

"There isn't, at least not one I am comfortable with."

Camille glanced at the IV. "What if you constantly ran morphine? At least for a little longer. It would give you more time."

Bane stopped the bleeding in his arm, shook his head. "My body is dependent on enough drugs as it is. The morphine may give me a few painless minutes without the mask, minutes that are essential for me to stay alive, but I do not wish to have any more than I should." He kept his head down as he worked, spoke quietly from a sad truth. "I know I am an addict."

Her heart clenched slightly at his words, but both of them knew it was true. Back when he'd been in Arkham Asylum, Bane had suffered through his withdrawal, making his pain worse because his body was crying out for the medicine. She had been the one to break the rules and give him sleep medication anyway, if only so that he could sleep without the painful effects. Bane may always be an addict, a trait that was a must for his survival, but she found that she could live with it. Her own past dependence on depression medication gave her that understanding, and also a strange sadness. She had overcome her addiction. Bane never would.

"Come here and kiss me," she told him.

Bane reached up to undo his mask, noting the time and calculating how long he would have without it. It was a few minutes after ten, he saw, unlatching the straps and stopping the flow of the painkillers. He rubbed his cheeks once it was off to bring blood flow back, glanced over at Camille as she waited. She smiled at him, giving him that half smirk only he ever saw. Bane kept his eyes on hers as he stood, his boots stomping along the floor as he neared her.

The mask was a part of Bane, and she knew he didn't resent it. The only thing that bothered him was the way he'd acquired it, wishing that it could have been another way if fate was going to give it to him without the binding to someone who was so terribly hard to get rid of. And she'd come to not even notice it anymore. Instead, she lived her life working around it. Like now, as he came closer to her. Moments like now were ones she would patiently wait for if she had to. Camille lifted her hands out to him, waited until he reached them.

Bane leaned down, but kept his lips a whisper away as he stared at hers. He took her hands, and ran them down his chest. "Is that paint going to get all over me?"

Camille shook her head, slid her hands around his waist. Desperate for the taste of him. "It's a stain."

"Hmm." Bane took her cheeks and tilted her head up a little more. Softly he kissed her and then pulled away, as if sampling her mouth. And when the taste of her, the taste of those pouty red lips, made him hungry, he leaned in again. Once, twice, three times he tasted her, and decided that he'd been starved all along.

"Definitely a privilege," she murmured against his mouth, then stood up on her toes to claim him again.

He sunk into her, sunk into the feel, the smell, the taste of her as he backed her up against the wall behind her. Bane fisted his hand into the back of her curls as she opened her mouth, tilted her head some by pulling on her hair so that he could taste the inside, taste that lovely tongue he hardly ever got to taste. He felt her shiver a little, felt her hands clench at his sides as he sucked at her lips, as he pulled her in and refused to let her go. This was what he needed to take his mind away, to take his sanity back from someone who was trying to come back to him. The feel of Camille's body, the knowledge that she was with him for reasons that had nothing to do with the one before her, and the willingness that came with her. She wanted him, because no one else could satisfy her the way he could.

Camille didn't care if she had to wait years before she could taste him again. Because every time she was able to, she finally felt like everything was okay, that everything was right. The feeling of being content was something that had rarely ever come to her. But in the very few moments when she could kiss him, she wondered how she could feel anything but. She gasped softly against his mouth as he pressed harder into her, taking his weight because she knew he needed comfort. She was the only one who could give it to him, and she took the job seriously. She ran her hands up his chest, feeling the dips and bulges of those hard, powerful muscles, and kept up with him when his kisses became more desperate.

Bane feasted on her mouth, sucking at her lips and nipping at her tongue. He wondered how he could go for so long without kissing a woman, wondered how he couldn't remember ever doing it before Camille. But he couldn't feel neglected now, he thought, running his hand down her body as she wrapped her arms around his neck. How could he feel neglected when she tasted so good?

Camille felt her heart quicken drastically when Bane pulled apart the first half of her corset top as he kissed her, as he reached in to cup her breast. She opened her mouth to moan softly when he squeezed, felt her limbs go to putty when his tongue plunged into her mouth. Hot, wet, and so tasty, she kissed him feverishly, and never wanted his lips to leave.

Their mouths suddenly stopped moving, and instead, remained perfectly still against the others. Their eyes opened, stared at each other as they listened carefully. Slowly they pulled away with a soft smack of lips, and glanced over at the entrance to their room.

Bane had taught her how to use her senses efficiently. And right now, something wasn't right.

Bane and Camille each glared at the entrance, wondering who or what on earth had decided to ruin their moment that came so few and far between. With their limbs still wrapped around each other, with Bane's hand still within her top, they listened, tried to hear, tried to focus. Something had sparked their inner caution. Something was going on.

And then the moment went straight to hell when the yell of a man was heard.

"Security breach! Security breach!"

Gunshots. Loud, powerful gunshots.

They broke away at once, Bane going to his mask and Camille hurriedly hooking her top back together and grabbing the nearest gun she could find, stuffing it into her holster and trotting behind Bane once the mask was secure and he was peaking around the corner outside their room. A bunch of his men were running towards the shots, carrying their own weapons, screams heard from further down. And up.

And when he heard the quick whistle of an even powerful firearm, he knew his attackers had come prepared.

An explosion was heard as the missile of an RPG whooshed through the hallways and crashed into the wall, the yells of men and gunshots meshing together for the sound of war. Bane looked down at Camille, saw that she was just as angry as he was, and rushed out into the madness so that they could end whoever thought themselves foolish enough to trifle with them.

More walls burst into chunks of cement as bullets pierced around them. They passed a few dead men, their own men, as they made their way to the outside, knowing it was not a smart move to stay underground when the fight would be from above. And relying on his instincts, Bane stopped suddenly, his hand snatching out to take the barrel of the rifle from the man around the corner who tried to surprise him, and lifting it up and away.

Camille took her gun, instantly aimed and shot the intruder right in the crotch for more time, right before Bane grabbed his neck and heaved him against the wall, his screams almost like a song to Bane.

No one would try to ambush him.

Bane and Camille stared at the enemy, something washing over them, something the boss of these people would want to be fear. Instead, it only gave them fury.

Their attacker wore a mask. The mask of a clown.

The Joker had found them.

Bane dropped the clown, deciding to let him suffer on the floor from a bullet that would cause him to bleed to death, and heard more RPG's flying, more screams from his men. More dead along the floor.

"We aren't prepared," he commented, keeping Camille against the wall and taking her gun, aiming it and ending every clown he could spot that rushed his temporary home.

"We need to retreat," she said, flinching at more explosions. "We need to regroup."

Bane nodded, not liking the decision but knowing it was the one they would have to accept. These clowns had weapons ready that they didn't. These clowns had the element of surprise they'd wanted. It was time to go.

And plan for revenge.

Bane took Camille's arm, and ran through the chaos.

As soon as they made it outside, Bane spotted Barsad waving to him, a bunch of vehicles ready and waiting on their leader. Clowns littered the area, shooting those who were shooting at them, blowing their home to pieces so that they'd never return. Bane and Camille ran for the trucks, hopping in quickly and driving off before the cops could come. He looked back, saw a few of his men from the other side of the complex gathering everything they could, especially from his own room, and tossing it in the back of the SUV, knowing they'd need some kind of supplies for their new location. Other men held off the clowns, other men that were dropping from the surprise attack.

"How the hell did they find us?" Camille asked, rage bubbling underneath her skin. "_Fucking_ clowns."

She shrieked when Bane suddenly grabbed her hair and pulled her down on his lap, the rest of him covering her as bullets pierced the side of their truck and blew out a few windows. They could hear the laughing of the clowns, looked back to see them waving their rifles in glee. Bane let Camille up when they were far enough away, and spoke calmly to Zaid, who had got into the truck with them as well.

"I want to know where he is," he ordered, his hands fisting, his vision hazing in the red of blood. "I want you to find him. And then I will kill him."

"Shit," Zaid sighed, looking back from the front seat as the truck zipped through traffic, as fire trucks frantically passed them. "That's going to take a whole lot of work. Sir," he added quickly.

"Give me a lead." Now was not the time to lose his temper. Now was not the time to seethe. He would find the cause of this, and do away with that annoyance. "Find me the Joker."

* * *

There were two main jobs that had to be done. One, the Joker was to be found, as soon as possible. And two, Bane and his men needed a new location since the one they'd had had been furiously compromised. They had thought they would've been given more time since returning to Gotham to find a new home, but the decisions of the insane had sped that up rather quickly. And instead of fuming over it, it simply was to be done.

Two huge jobs, but Bane didn't care. All that mattered was that the jobs would be done, as efficiently as possible, and done soon.

He expected no less by the time the sun rose in the sky.

Almost every vehicle they owned had regrouped at the marina of the bay, a secluded area that was usually private property. With mostly all of their supplies intact from the initiated protocol for times like this, some of his men waited, some of them tended wounds. And most of them worked from their trucks.

Zaid manned his laptop, scanning the area with stolen police equipment from the front seat, trying to find any trace of a fugitive clown. He listened to the radio, made a few phone calls, and kept track of each cruiser within a considerable distance. Everyone could tell Bane was angry from the ambush, and wanted to please him with their assigned jobs so that they would send the worry away, so that everyone could breathe. The soft sound of the bay lapping at the waters' edge hardly brought any relaxation. The only time they would be able to ease the tension was when Bane's orders were carried out and completed.

Camille saw Bane by the docks staring up at the night sky. Everyone else avoided him unless he had to speak with them, but she walked up right up to him, holding his long, brown coat in her arms. She spotted his armored vest hooked around his body, and knew it would be best if he had the extra warmth.

"Put this on," she told him, holding out his coat to him.

His mask hissed softly as he shook his head, wondering what would have happened if the clowns had got to him before he could've put it back on. But it was useless to think about.

"Fine," she sighed, and pulled it over her own shoulders. The air was even colder near the water, the wind biting as it traveled over the bay. "I know you're mad. I'm mad too. I don't know how he found us, but he'll pay for it. I don't think he's ever dealt with someone like you before." She looked up at the sky with him, watched the few stars twinkle away from city life. Suddenly she missed the Indian sky, and the vast number of stars that had glittered in space. "Gotham knows we're back. It was all over the papers. But now they're in a panic, because they know he's back too. A lot of people are leaving."

Camille didn't know why she was telling him facts he already knew. But she thought maybe conversation would calm him down. She didn't know what else to do, didn't know how to pass the time before they would make their next move. But she didn't want him to seethe over something he had no control over. Bane had needed comfort before the ambush. Now, she didn't know what must be going on inside him. If they'd been alone she would've held him. And if he wanted her, she would have given him her body.

Right now she could only reassure him. So she simply stood by his side, and watched the stars.

And then the moment he'd been waiting for came.

"Got him," Zaid shouted, pulling off his headset and quickly writing down addresses. "Police radioed in a sighting of the Joker and his female companion after they fled a crime scene, which would be the complex. He's making his way through Downtown. Last sighting was at Sixteenth and Rinaldi. If we're quick and crafty, we can catch him before the cops do."

Bane looked down at Camille. And smiled for the first time in hours. "Would you like to go hunting for a clown?"

"With you?" she asked, already making her way to the truck. "Always."

* * *

Camille shrugged off her military jacket in the tuck, not caring about the cold in only her corset top. The rush was making her hot, making her crave extra movability. Zaid kept track of the progress, monitoring everything he could without drawing any cyber attention. His fingers furiously typed over the keyboard, and she wondered where Bane had found him.

"He is in Downtown. There is nothing important there," Bane commented.

"All of Gotham is important to the Joker," Camille answered, watching the city fly by in the window. "About ten years ago, before he disappeared, he worked everywhere. It didn't matter. Everything here has a purpose for him."

"Soon he will have no purpose. Where is he?"

"I don't know," Zaid answered. And when he squinted to read the update, his head jerked up. "Oh. He's right there."

A jeep suddenly merged out in front of them from the crossing street, the seats full of shooting clowns as the explosion of bright cop cars chased them down. The man driving their truck hit the brakes, avoiding a collision with either of their enemies, and stayed a few cars back as the chase continued. The surrounding cars honked and swerved out of the way, rammed into others so that the jeep wouldn't be able to have a shot at them.

Because that was all the clowns were doing. Shooting at everything and anything.

And just like last night, it was chaos.

"Follow them," Bane ordered calmly, keeping the jeep in sight.

For a while they tailed them, and only when Camille saw a partnering, she pointed. "It's a distraction. That car next to them has the masks too." The two vehicles broke off from each other. "Merge onto Hart!"

The driver turned where he was told, began driving away from the police. They watched as the car suddenly braked at a building's entrance, and a bunch of the masked clowns filing out with large duffel bags. Bane looked up, saw that the building was for an old credit union. Whether or not it had any significance didn't matter to him. He was only here for one thing. To eliminate the powers that held Gotham before him.

The mercenaries got out of the car, holding their weapons and firing on the clowns. Bane and Camille watched as others exited the car, but couldn't tell exactly who by the gunfire. But they did make out one body. A tiny little body dressed in red and black with yellow pigtails.

"Go get her," Bane told her, and decided he'd follow the others that had run into the building.

Camille nodded, and ran towards the entrance.

Harley Quinn must have been further ahead then she'd thought. Camille ran up the stairs, all the flights with only the faint sound of boots tapping along the ground. She would get Harley, and use her for answers. She would bring her to Bane, and let him do with her what he wanted. These clowns had tried to make fools out of them. And now they would pay.

Camille chased her all the way to the rooftop. Harley must have had a thing for the open space, because Camille was suddenly thinking about last night, her first encounter with the woman she'd used to know. She burst through the door, glanced around.

Where had she gone?

The wind blew at her hair, the lights of police cars brightening the street from below. Camille looked all around, finding no trace of the woman she'd been chasing. She walked around, looking past every large air conditioning unit that had been placed on the roof, found absolutely nothing but terrified pigeons who quickly flew away. Maybe Harley had taken a turn that Camille hadn't seen. Maybe she had passed her without even knowing.

Camille yelped when a hand yanked her hair, pulled her back and slammed her against one of the units, pain stinging along her scalp. She growled some and reached for whoever was hurting her, looked into their eyes.

And was greeted with the piercing stare of hollow black paint. Eyes that seemed to be laughing at her. Camille's own widened, all sounds halting from her throat in shock.

And there he was.

The Joker smiled big at her, his red scarred mouth widening into that infamous grin, his white greasepaint makeup smeared and in complete disarray. His greasy green hair wisped at his shoulders, shoulders clothes in that purple tux everyone could remember. Camille could do nothing but stare at him as he kept her still, not knowing how to react from being this close to him. This close to the man who'd taken the White Knight away. It almost seemed surreal.

But Camille knew she was in an extremely bad place.

"Hey there, toots," he said to her with that constant smile, a smile as red as blood. "What's a gal like you doing in a place like this? Bad decision on your part, huh?"

Camille grasped at his wrist as his hand squeezed on her neck. Words still escaped her, and all movement temporarily forgotten. She didn't know what to do, couldn't remember anything.

_There he was_. After all this time.

The Joker looked down at her mouth, smirked. "Nice _shade_," he commented as he inspected her lipstick. "Although, something's missing here. What could it be?" He reached into his pocket, drew out his switchblade. "Oh, that's right. A smile."

Camille went to scream, was silenced by his gripping hand around her throat.

"Let's see what we can do about that."

And then he brought the blade to her mouth.

"Open wide!"

**TBC**

**A/N: There he is, the man everyone wanted to see! In honor of their introductions, this chapter's song choice is for the Joker and Harley. To me, the perfect live action Harley Quinn will always be Brittany Murphy. So that is who everyone should picture her as in this story. Everyone has a few more days if you'd like to give me a description for the contest. I've gotten some pretty good ones, so thank you to those who participated. And also thank you to those who reviewed. I can't do any of this without you, my loves. **


	12. Breath

_**Amaranthine**_

**Chapter 12**

**Breath**

"_So sacrifice yourself, and let me have what's left. I know that I can find the fire in your eyes." – Breaking Benjamin _

He was going to cut her. The Joker was going to slice her mouth, was going to make her face look as ugly as his. But she couldn't let that happen. She couldn't allow the clown to make her look like him. Bane loved her mouth, and for that alone she would fight until she no longer breathed to keep her face unscathed. Camille was just about to thrash as he neared the blade to her lips.

And then he stopped, and stared down.

Camille swallowed, tried to move his hand from around her neck, tried to break free. Where was her strength when she needed it? Why was she freezing up?

Because seeing the Joker this close was completely staggering. She followed the path of his eyes, felt her body tense when she discovered what he was looking at.

Her forearms, and all the small scars that covered her skin.

"Oh boy," the Joker muttered, keeping her against the wall as he stared, clicking his tongue at her. "Had a rough few years, huh? Those are quite the little beauties you got there, suicide girl." He grabbed one of her forearms, turned it over to inspect. "Seems like we have something in common, whoever you are. You see these?" he asked, pointing to his mouth with the blade. "It's quite an interesting tale. Maybe I can tell it to you sometime." And when thinking about his own scars, the Joker looked down at her mouth again, decided that they should be twins, if only for a little while before he killed her. Definitely a bad decision to come up here, he thought, and wondered if he should pity her.

Nah.

Camille watched his face as he shook his head in disagreement, almost looking like he was unhappy about something.

"You're wearing this all wrong, by the way." The Joker pinned her harder against the air conditioning until, lifted his knee to press firmly into her stomach. He then placed the heels of his hands at the corners of her mouth, and lifted them up her cheeks, smearing her dark red lipstick across her face. And when she looked like him, when she had that beautiful Chelsea grin, he smiled.

Her eyes widened as fury washed over her. No one was allowed to touch her mouth without her permission. How dare he ruin her lipstick like that?

"There you go! No need to thank me. And now I have an outline. Now I'll see you smile for me. Permanently," he growled.

Camille suddenly snapped herself back to reality now that her makeup was ruined, now that the blade was coming to her mouth again. She thrashed against him, tried to push him away, tried to raise her arms so she could sock him right in his deformed mouth. But the Joker was a quick one, and instantly kept grabbing her, and securing her again. Annoyance was beginning to rise in his black painted eyes, annoyance and a waste of his time. He growled softly at her, jammed his forearm right into her neck to keep her still.

"Guess you're not going to cooperate. Guess I'll just have to stab your face now, _suicide girl_."

Camille flinched and her eyes widened again when he grabbed the blade like a dagger, when he raised his arm back and prepared to strike. A little squeal rose up in her throat, her heart stopping when his knife descended.

She jumped when a hand suddenly caught the Joker's before he could stab her.

Bane gripped the Joker's fist, and squeezed. Hard.

"Ow, ow, ow!" The clown tried to yank his hand away when he felt popping in his bones, yanked and yanked until Bane pushed him, causing him to fall onto his back and away from the lady. A hiss escaped his red lips as he looked up at the man before him, as he gave him a onceover and crawled away a little.

Bane glared down at him as he stepped in front of Camille. His hands fisted at his sides, his mask hissing violently. If Bane thought he would kill the Joker for ambushing him and ruining his plans, it would be even worse for the clown now that he'd almost hurt what belonged to him. He kept his piercing gaze on the Joker as he heard Camille right herself behind him and finally stand at his side, trying to wipe off the smeared lipstick along her cheeks.

The Joker raised his brows high and grinned, a big toothy smile that Bane wasn't expecting. He almost marveled at the other man, seeing everything he'd been missing since his big return, everything that had been taken away from him during the revolution he hadn't gotten to be a part of. The Joker looked up at Bane, and saw a replacement for the one he'd lost. He looked at this strong man, and found the missing hole the Batman had left behind when he'd died.

Finally, after so long, he felt complete.

"Oh _ho_, look at _you!_" he said happily, glancing at every inch, every wondrous inch that would substitute his past obsession. "So this is the guy who wouldn't let poor ol' me come out and play during his big reign. Such a shame. You really are a big boy, aren't you?" He giggled a little, lifted his hand to inspect it. "I think you dislocated my fingers. But I expected that. I've been _dying_ to meet you."

"How convenient," Bane answered. "For me."

The Joker laughed, sat himself up. He looked over at the woman who was supposed to have been his newest victim, and then everything seemed to click into place. "Camille Lane. Bane's lovely raped little toy. Harley told me all about you. Nice smile, honey."

Camille matched Bane's glare.

"You've met Harley," he continued, dusting off his gloved hands casually, wincing at the pain that shot up to his elbow. "Quite a gal she is, huh? I remember when I first saw her. So sweet and innocent, and so darn funny! We had some laughs back in that spiffy little asylum, me and her. But the thing about Harley is, she has this little spark, this little piece of glitter inside her that just wants something to love. And when I saw that, that pretty spark, well… Before I knew it, she was _crazy_ about me."

"Enough," Bane growled, finding his words useless. "Gotham City belongs to me, clown. It is time for you to disappear once more."

"Gotham City?" he asked, pretending to process all of Bane's words. "This Gotham City? That's a good joke, big guy." The door to the rooftop suddenly burst open, causing Camille to jump a little as Bane remained perfectly calm, still keeping his gaze on the Joker as his clown henchmen swarmed the roof, along with the woman who assisted him. Harley walked up to the Joker, gave him a peck on the cheek and smiled at their opponents. "And boy, do I love a good joke."

"You hope to terminate me by using your pathetic little clowns? You must not be as intelligent as they say you are."

"Well," the Joker said with a big shrug. "You can't blame a guy for trying, can you? And if I can't get rid of you, well then…" He looked over to Camille with a smirk. "Maybe Harley here can teach your little toy a lesson."

"Shouldn't have run off from me, sweet face," Harley said to Camille with anticipation. "Now I'm gonna hurt you."

"You see, big bad Bane," the Joker continued. "Gotham was mine a long time ago. The only reason why this city tears itself apart is because I poisoned it from the inside out. And you… Well, you're nothing but a big piece of yarn the kitty cat got to play with right before she _blew you up_." He gave one big step back, his purple coat tails flapping in the wind, gesturing for Harley and the clowns to take his place in front of them. "You gave it a good try though. I applaud you."

And when the Joker clapped twice, both Harley and the clowns rushed them.

The group of men went instantly for Bane as Camille braced for Harley. She knew she hadn't done a good job with her before, knew that maybe the clown woman thought her weak and pointless. But Camille was tired of freezing up. And she was tired of these people. Harley almost seemed to skip at her, waving that hammer around like it were a bouquet full of flowers. It only irritated her more, irritated her because Harley didn't know what she was capable of. She'd been trained by the greatest fighter in the world. And she would use those skills as efficiently as ever right now. Harley thought her timid.

She definitely wasn't expecting Camille's hard, powerful fist right to her pretty painted face.

Harley let out a big grunt as her head reeled back from the impact, surprise and anger flooding her already reddening face. "What the—"

"Shut up and fight me, _bitch_."

Harley stared, growled. And then attacked.

The clowns who'd rushed Bane may have been weak to him, but there were a lot of them. He grabbed as many as he could in his quickness, slamming their heads together, twisting their arms until he heard a crack, sending his knuckles right into their throats. They kept coming like cockroaches, trying to swarm him, trying to please their boss. But he could handle them. He could handle anything. Bane grabbed one clown by his rubber masked face, jerked his head violently to the side and relishing at the wet crunch he heard in the spine. His long-sleeved shirt was uselessly torn at an attempt to grab his arm. Bane reeled back, lifted his knee and sent the face of his attacker right into it. And when they started to fearfully back off and halt their rushes at him, when they realized that this was a man not to be taken lightly, one they could never apprehend in a fight, Bane decided that he would finish them off one by one. He smirked at them, and walked closer with every intimidating stomp of his boots.

"Where the heck did you _come _from?" Harley asked breathlessly, gripping her hammer in her hand and trying to swing at Camille's face, missing when the other woman ducked. "The pit of Hell?"

Camille smiled at her, quickly grabbing Harley's hammer hand and pulling her closer, jabbing her knee into her bare stomach. "Something like that."

"Doing great over there, Harls."

Encouraging words from her lover seemed to set Harley back on fire. She spun and sent a leather boot to Camille's shoulder, pushed her back some. But her opponent was strong, stronger than anyone she'd taken on before. Harley raised her hammer again, sent it down to Camille's head as fast as she could.

Camille grabbed it in mid-air, snapped her other hand up to Harley's neck, and yanked the hammer away. Harley's eyes widened, her feet trying to back away before Camille jabbed the head of the hammer right into her stomach.

"Ugh…" Harley groaned, grabbing her midsection. "Puddin'… she won't stay still!" Harley quickly braced for her blow this time, sending her arm up to block Camille's fist to her cheek.

Camille glared at her as she socked her with the other, sending her back, reeling her fists one after the other into Harley's face. And when the clown woman went down onto her bottom, down with a pained moan from her strength she'd regained, she wondered if this was how Bane felt all the time.

She knew Bane was taking care of himself, torturing the clowns by the sounds of their whimpers and screams. She looked up at the Joker instead, saw him watching carelessly like he had all the time in the world.

Not one stich of concern was on his painted face for the one he supposedly loved.

"That's quite a man you got there, _Harleen_," Camille said to her, staring down at her and realizing she felt no pity for such a twisted woman. "Look how much he cares about you. He's barely even given you a glance since I've been kicking your ass."

"Shut up!" she hissed, her pigtails in disarray, a small string of blood leaking out of one nostril.

"But it shouldn't matter if I bruise you. He's already bruised you enough, hasn't he?"

And surprisingly, Harley started to giggle, slowly pulling herself up. "Oh, that's a gas coming from you, sweet face. You think you're so cute with all your… curly black hair and your messed up lipstick. And you can have all the fun you want taking shots at me. But you know the difference between me and you?" She took a deep breath, leaned back on her hands with her leather boots spread out.

"I'm sure there are a ton of differences between us," Camille answered dryly. "You're crazy."

"No," Harley smiled, shaking her head. "That's just a plus on my part. The difference between me and you… is that I know my man loves me. And you have absolutely no answer for that."

Camille hadn't been prepared for that. And when she heard the words again, she felt herself involuntarily sink. She could only stare down at the woman at her feet. Stare down into the truth of her words. She didn't know. She didn't know, and suddenly she didn't like knowing.

"Too bad for you," Harley chirped.

And then she pulled her heavy boot back, and sent it crashing into Camille's knee.

Camille yelped and went down, the hammer slipping from her fingers and her back hitting the concrete of the rooftop when her knee refused to hold her up. She'd felt her bones rattle once the leather boot made contact, felt the pain shoot up her leg and almost to her chest. She let out a pained growl, clenched her teeth.

"Nice shot, pumpkin pie!" the Joker shouted.

Harley giggled like a naughty little girl as she pulled herself to her feet, limping over to her lover.

Bane snapped his attention over to Camille when he heard her yell, used just enough time to break the arm of one of the clowns before they retreated at their leader's orders, a few of them unable to and dead on the ground. He looked back at the Joker, saw Harley and the rest of the clowns who were healthy enough hook lines to the edge of the building, and zip down to the street.

"Well, well, big guy," the Joker shouted to him, holding his arms out like they were good friends as he stood next to the edge of the rooftop. "I gotta leave. Places to go, people to kill and all that jazz. But I'll tell you something. Gotham's wanted me back for a long time. And you know how I'm going to repay her?" He lifted his hand out, showed Bane a little remote within the purple glove. He gave it a kiss, hooked his own line to the edge and stood onto the concrete rail.

"I'm going to burn her down to the ground. One building at a time. Starting with this one."

He pressed the button. And Bane watched him jump off the rail, laughing all the way to safety.

A loud explosion filled the air, the pounding of broken walls, broken glass, broken beams snapping at the pressure. Bane stumbled a little when the ground beneath him trembled greatly, heard the rest of the bombs that had been in the building detonating, and taking the whole place down from level one up.

Then level two went. Level three. At a speed that would very soon kill them. And Bane knew they needed to get off the roof. Now.

"Bane!" Camille painfully yelled to him, holding her arms out when he came to her.

"How are we going to get off the roof?" she asked as he picked her up, hooking one arm around his neck and biting back the sharp stings of pain in her leg. "There's no way out but down."

Bane looked around, tried to ignore the explosions that were getting closer with every level that was destroyed. Until he found the solution, and gripped Camille tightly against him as he began to run as fast as he could. She yelped some when he stumbled as the building started falling apart beneath his feet, held her tight and had to ignore her painful mews. She screamed at him when he neared the edge without stopping, like a bull charging the red cloth. He loosened his grip on her body, blocked out her protests.

And heaved her into the air as hard as he could, right off the edge of the crumbling building.

And through her screams, Camille landed on the roof of the closely neighboring structure. She groaned loudly in pain from the impact, frantically looked over at Bane and cursing him straight to hell if he didn't follow her.

"Jump!" she shouted at him desperately.

Bane stayed calm as he took a few steps back, and ran again. He sprinted off the edge of the building, his foot leaving the rail with not even an inch to spare. His leg vaulted off, sending him across. Sending him to the edge and to her.

Camille felt like she had the worst heart attack of her life when he didn't land right on the roof with her. But instead, Bane had grasped the edge of the roof, and pulled himself up expertly like he weighed nothing. The level below the roof on the other building exploded. Camille held her arms out to Bane again, not able to move much because of her wounded knee, and grasped onto him as he crawled over to her, and covered her with his body.

The roof burst into chunks and flames next to them, sending pieces of metal and rock in every direction, the sound of the blast deafening. Bane shielded Camille as the explosion continued, as the building began to fall, her hands covering the back of his mask to protect it from any flying debris. And when it was over, when they were finally safe, he lifted himself, and stared down at her.

"Are you all right?" he asked her.

She panted a little, kept her hands on the back of his mask just in case, and gave him a nod. "I think so. That bitch hurt my leg," she breathed, and looked his body over for injuries. "And what the _fuck_ were you thinking, throwing me off the building like that? What if you hadn't made it? What if you hadn't jumped far enough? You scared the _shit_ out of me."

Bane gave a breathless laugh and shook his head at her. "We're safe, are we not?"

"God," she panted, slapping at his chest. She stared up at him, tried to keep her hands from shaking as she wrapped her arms around his neck, and pulled him down so she could kiss his mask. She couldn't think about her leg now because they _were_ safe. And she couldn't be angry at Bane because he was perfectly fine. He placed his forehead on hers as she kissed him some more. "God," she whispered again, and just held him close.

Bane was fine. They had survived and he was fine.

The pain in her leg was nothing compared to knowing just that.

* * *

He'd carried her down the flights of stairs, holding her close and having to ignore her soft whimpers of pain. There was nothing he could do about it right now, not until they found his men and got somewhere safe before the police flooded the area, which would happen at any second. Bane could see large patches of fire outside on the street from the explosions, caught the first whiffs of smoke through the grates in his mask. Camille rested her head on his shoulder as he carried her, trying to hold her corset top together with her hand after a few of the hooks had broken during her fight with the lady clown. Bane looked at her leg, saw that he couldn't tell its condition until he took her pants off.

"You were doing so well," he told her, reaching the last flight of stairs as the building next door continued to crumble. "Why are you injured if you were doing so well?"

Camille kept her gaze away from him, stared at the fire instead. She didn't want to tell Bane what Harley had said to her. Didn't feel like bringing up such a subject, because it had never been brought up before. She didn't want to know that Harley's words had had an effect on her, didn't want to think about what Bane's reaction would be if he knew. Subjects like _that_ weren't brought up between them. They just weren't, because their last relationships had wounded them to the point of never wanting to think about it again. And until she could process this new effect herself, she couldn't tell him. "She caught me off guard. I thought she was down. I thought I had the advantage."

Bane eyed her a little. "It seemed like you did… For a moment, at least."

"I underestimated her when she fell. I know that was a bad decision. And I paid for it."

"Why do I feel as if this is a half-truth?"

_Because it is. Because I don't want you to know what she said._ "I don't know."

When he walked outside, the cold rushed her, stinging her skin now in such a revealing top. She shivered against him, squeezed her eyes shut in pain. And Bane decided to let the subject go for now. For two people who were supposed to be honest with each other, it was obviously hard to come by. It took a few minutes to locate his men. And when they got into the truck with everyone intact after the shootout with the clowns, they drove away as the cops barreled closer.

At one in the morning, Barsad told him they finally found a new home.

There were only so many abandoned establishments in Gotham City. And when none of the others suited them, the ones who'd been given the job of finding them shelter had to broaden their scope. Money was involved this time, money that would be well spent because they had nowhere else to go. Barsad had made some phone calls, and got in touch with someone who was selling an old shoe factory for a fraction of the cost, just to have it taken off his hands. And because that someone was one of the few who were leaving Gotham and needed quick funds, he hadn't cared in the least how the transaction went. Barsad had someone wire him cash, and came in mutual agreement that there would be no trail to lead the cops anywhere near them.

The factory was big, big and old and dusty, and long passed its use. The room was sufficient enough for them, holding enough space to house everyone, along with weapons and vehicles. There was even a living quarters off in the corner where the owners back in the day would live because the factory had demanded that sacrifice from them, serving well for Bane to stay and sleep. He walked into the small apartment, found it surprisingly clean and guessed the owner had hurriedly freshened it up for such a quick sale. More like a studio apartment, the space was a very large room, complete with a made bed, a table and chairs, a large area rug, and even a fireplace. Very simple, but it would serve its purpose for him. He was busy giving the other men orders, telling someone to put coals in the various fireplaces throughout the factory for warmth. Camille had been kept in the truck with the heat on so she wouldn't be in the way, her help useless for the moment because of her leg. When Bane finally spotted Barsad, he beckoned him over.

"Retrieve Camille from the truck for me. She can barely walk."

Of course, Barsad thought as he grumbled to the exit. Of course Bane would ask _him_ to do such a thing. After their previous conversation, Camille was the last person he wanted to come into any kind of contact with. Being in the field was one thing - Or was it? – but having to be around her this way, when he _knew_ she shouldn't be here, was something he wanted to avoid. Why should he help someone who would be their downfall if Bane didn't open his eyes and see what was happening? Camille was Talia all over again. And she sickened him.

He didn't have to like her. Didn't have to accept her. But he still needed to follow orders.

Camille held her jacket closed around her in the front seat, trying to wipe at her cheeks again to get the staining red off her skin where the Joker had smeared it. She almost fell out of the truck when the door was suddenly pulled open, catching herself and sending more shooting pain all along her knee. She flinched a little when she saw Barsad, and the unhappy glower along his face.

"Yes?" she asked slowly, a little uncertain on why he was here.

"You have pathetically injured yourself in battle. The rest of us are fine. Maybe it is time for you to leave this world you obviously cannot handle."

She stared at him, and found that she was _not_ in the mood to deal with this right now. "You don't know what happened," she told him lowly.

Even her voice was grating. Barsad looked at Camille, and saw their doom. "Bane has other uses for you. You should stick to that instead of trying to do the job. You must be very good at satisfying him to be kept for this long."

She wasn't going to participate in this. She'd never been one for confrontation of this sort, and felt extremely uncomfortable. Barsad was just a hurt man who saw her with a different face. And Camille had no energy to convince him otherwise. She shook her head at him, looked away. "Leave me alone."

"Bane has asked me to bring you to him."

"Tell him to come get me himself."

"He is busy at the moment." Barsad pushed the door open wider, reached for her so that he could do what he was told.

She batted his hands away angrily. "Don't touch me. You don't get to say those things to me. I don't care who the hell you are to him. But you don't talk to me that way."

Barsad fisted his hands, felt the heat in his eyes. "You are giving me orders? Again?"

"Fuck you," she growled, and pushed him back, causing him to stumble a little while his glare turned into one of surprise. She lowered herself carefully to the ground, making sure not to make any sound or face of pain in front of him even as her knee throbbed. And without sparing him one last glance, she hobbled away from him.

Barsad stared after her, not sure whether to pick her up so that Bane wouldn't be angry that she was walking, or to continue to allow her to limp, possibly injuring her leg further. A tiny bit of panic grabbed his chest. Bane already thought him acting strange after the meeting last week, and knew it had something to do with Camille. Barsad did not want him to look at him in a different light if his so-called _lover_ hurt herself. And even though neither of them wanted it, he stayed behind Camille, regrettably making sure she didn't fall.

Bane lifted his brow when he saw Camille limping into the apartment on her own, looked to his second when he came in after her. "Barsad."

"She wouldn't allow me to carry her."

Camille stood awkwardly still, leaning all of her weight on her other leg, and praying that Barsad would leave soon so that she could collapse. "I can walk. It's not that bad."

Barsad half expected her to inform Bane of what he'd said to her. But when she remained quiet, he didn't know what to think. With one last order from Bane, he turned around and left.

Barsad wasn't all too sure which side Bane would take at this point. So he left it alone.

After everything was situated and everyone else finding somewhere to sleep within the factory, Bane took off his torn shirt, and began working on Camille's. He unhooked the rest of her top, carefully slid down her pants to inspect her injury. It wasn't as bad as he'd feared. Her knee had taken quite the hit from a hard, leather boot, but it was neither broken nor dislocated. It was red and swollen now, and would bruise uncomfortably, but nothing she couldn't handle, or heal from within good time. She would even be able to walk better come morning after she rested. He pulled Camille up to the pillows on the bed, not bothering to retrieve any clothing for her since she would be most comfortable in her black strapless bra and panties, and went to work on creating a fire for them so that they wouldn't freeze to death.

Once the flames lit the room, sending soft orange shadows along the walls, he continued to hear her shifting uncomfortably. Bane looked over at her, found her lying on her back with her arms spread out, looking very annoyed that she couldn't find the right spot because her leg hindered her from moving too much. Bane could only imagine how the night would go for her, since she would most likely wake herself from pain while trying to move into one of her strange sleeping positions.

And if it was a long night for her, then it would be a long night for him. Wonderful.

"Will you come over here and talk to me?" he heard her ask quietly.

Once he saw that the fire would be sustained enough to warm them through the night, Bane walked over to the bed. "It is three in the morning. Go to sleep."

"I can't sleep. And it doesn't hurt so much if I'm distracted. You're not sleepy either."

He sat on the edge of his side of the bed, thoughts of his newest predicament with the Joker and the mob still racing through his mind, keeping him up and awake. "What would you like to talk about?"

Camille was a little surprised that he was obliging her. Usually when she wanted to talk without a purpose, he would tease her and tell her that he'd stopped being her patient a long time ago. But her knee was hurting now, and she knew she could take her mind off the pain with conversation. At least until she was ready to fall off. "When did you lose your virginity?"

Camille had never seen him looked so surprised. He stared at her, almost gaping. "Why would you ask me such a question?"

"Because I'd like to know. It's not hard to answer."

It almost seemed hard if you never had to give someone that answer before. He couldn't imagine why she'd ask him something like that, and at this time. It was odd to hear the question, even odder to think about it. And when he came to the answer, since he'd never had to give one like this, he didn't think it was a good one. Bane knew he was a very private person, and to have to give her this answer made him feel strange on the inside. But because she was hurt, and because he… felt like maybe he should tell her, he did.

He didn't want to. It brought up too many bad memories. But he still did.

"I hardly know of any life before the pit. And for me, while there, such an act was impossible. It happened after I'd already been in the League of Shadows for a couple of years," he answered softly, looking over at the fire. "I had gone from prison, to facing death, and straight to training after I healed and was given the mask."

Camille watched him as she lied on her back. She knew the timeline of his life. "Then it was with Talia."

Bane nodded slowly.

She didn't want to upset him, and she'd had a feeling that the first time had been with Talia. The course of events in his life hadn't given him much time around women other than her. But Camille could understand perfectly. Jackson had been the only man she'd ever been intimate with before Bane. And while she knew that Bane had slept with other women after Talia and before herself, she knew that it hadn't been that many. His profession, his health, and the mask must have made it hard. And all of a sudden, she received a little understanding about a certain period in their life together that had confused her before, and had given her exhaustion.

"Back in India… why did you wake me up so much?" She would never ask him if it was some unrealized emotional insecurity of his that had caused him to wake her for sex almost every night. But she'd never been given a clear answer. She hoped he'd still talk to her, and about these kinds of subjects. Bane tended to avoid talking about these things, but once again he answered.

"You are the only woman who has consistently stayed with me. I have had to wait very long periods of time before finding intimacy with another. It was… very difficult to deal with, at times."

Bane's sexual appetite was very large. And since Camille was willing and around, he found that he could fulfill that hunger whenever he wanted. He may have gone about it the wrong way, but it was something he couldn't help, because he'd never been in this kind of relationship before. Talia had been in and out of his life, even though she'd ruled it, even though he'd almost sacrificed his own for her chance at revenge. And the others, however many there had been throughout his life after being excommunicated from the League, had been one-time things. Camille was here. She was willing. And he couldn't have gotten enough.

"In the pit," Bane began, oddly finding the need to tell her these things, because he'd never told them to anyone else before. "There were only men. Throughout the years I had seen them take each other by force, using each other to slake the lust a woman was not there to satisfy. Because of that, I remained untouched. I had never seen a woman before Talia's mother, that I can remember. It was odd… to see a human as lovely as that in a small, terrible world where only men existed. But I couldn't be like the rest of them, after she was lowered to us. And I distracted myself with reading books I would have to steal from the other prisoners, or barter for, before I was feared enough to simply take what I wanted. It was very hard to hear the men during the evenings," he continued quietly, watching the flames flicker, remembering the sounds of prison, and all the weaker men who'd been beaten and raped simply for being smaller, and slow. "And it was difficult to believe in things such as sex between a man and a woman, or even marriage. Marriage was something of the past for the older prisoners, or a dream for those who'd only read about it in books. To have a wife… was almost a fantasy."

Camille could only imagine the things Bane had seen during his time in the pit. She may have come from an abusive household, but it was nothing compared to what he was telling her now. She knew how it felt to be so very alone, to wish for better things, things you couldn't dream of having because they were so distant. And she knew what it was like to keep yourself from desires that only came naturally.

"Did you want to have a wife, Bane?"

He didn't know why he was discussing something that would only bring him discomfort. He didn't know why he didn't just tell Camille to go to sleep and stay quiet.

"I thought… I had one. Or something very close," he said softly, so softly she thought the flickering of the fire was louder than his voice. He took a deep breath, the sound hissing out through the tubes of the mask. "What makes a wife, anyway?"

Camille drew her brows together, looked up at the ceiling and thought. "I'm not sure. I'm divorced."

He laughed a little, leaned back until he was lying on his side beside her, and listened.

"My marriage may have been doomed to failure, but I would say that a wife is your… partner. Your other half. Someone who can hurt you, and also the only one who can kiss away that hurt. Someone you find the answers with. Someone who takes care of you... I don't know," she sighed. She had never known a healthy couple. "Maybe marriage is just a fantasy." She turned her head to look over at him, and wondered what made a good husband. Probably the same principles, she figured, as a wife. And because he'd told her so much, she decided to switch things back to her so he wouldn't feel uncomfortable. "After you kidnapped me, you seemed to know that Jackson was the only man I had ever slept with at the time. How did you know that?"

Bane thought back to those days long ago, and smiled when he thought of it. She wouldn't like his answer, but it still amused him. "Back then, you had tried your very hardest to act distant, and capable. You wanted others to feel intimidated by you so that they would leave you alone, so that they would see you as independent. But after I learned your story, and after I first witnessed you interact with Mr. Lane, I knew that you had never allowed any other man to touch you. You wanted what you couldn't have, and ignored what you could. Just like me…" he murmured, and danced his eyes all over her face. It still surprised him a little at how similar they were. "Do you know why I call you darling Camille?"

She shook her head, and realized that her knee had decreased to a dull throb.

He kept the smile. Another thing she wouldn't like. "Your façade was just that. I learned your past, and all I could see was a very inexperienced, innocent young woman. But a woman who would not accept those qualities about herself. So… you became a little darling to me."

She blinked at him, lifted a brow. "So you're really just insulting me."

He laughed again, deep and raspy. "Of course not. It is very rare when I find someone… sweet. Someone… who did not deserve to burn in the fire." The scent of her snaked through the tubing of his mask, that familiar scent. That annoying scent that would cause him to feel fuzzy. "I don't remember kissing another woman before you."

Her somewhat irritated gaze softened. Obviously he'd never been given the chance to taste Talia's lips. And knowing that gave her satisfaction. Bane's mouth belonged to her completely. Only she had ever tasted him. That knowledge made her skin feel like it was buzzing, sizzling on top of her bones. The throb in her leg annoyed her, but lying next to him like this made her feel like she was flying. She suddenly became very aware that they had not had the chance to be intimate since last week, because the work had gotten so hectic. She wondered if he felt as antsy as she suddenly felt, patiently waiting, patiently wanting. Bane's appetite was large, she reminded herself.

She wanted to give him his fill.

Bane looked into her eyes, lowered his gaze to her lips. He knew what was happening with her, knew that she was suddenly feeling as hot as the fire that flickered in the corner. "It is too late for this, Camille. Just close your eyes."

"My leg hurts," she said, giving him the pout she didn't want to believe she made. "Distract me."

"You must rest."

"I don't want to rest. I want you to sit right here." She patted the spot between her legs with her good foot. "Please. Just for a couple of minutes." She watched him look to the spot, saw the hesitancy in his eyes. And, reeling him in, she moved her arms up above her head, arched her back a little so that he had no choice but to look. She knew how to get him. "Distract me," she whispered again.

Bane looked back at her face, saw the challenge there. He had to learn how to fight her when it came to this. But right now… maybe he should distract her. He moved to the spot, sat on his knees between her legs as her thighs draped over his. He was careful of her knee, and stared down at her somewhat defiantly.

Why did she have to look at him like that? Her pretty face all smug, and waiting patiently for the treat she knew he'd give her?

"Give me your hands," she told him, and held hers out until he did as she asked.

She focused on removing his wrist brace first. And once it was carelessly tossed, she took his wrists, and placed his hands on her body. She set them on her neck first, allowed him to feel the skin there before moving carefully down. She watched his face as she moved his palms to her breasts, loved how his eyes intently watched the path. She pressed his wrists in, waited until he squeezed softly before moving downward still, causing him to sniff out an exasperated breath through his nose. Down to her stomach, over her hips.

"I love your hands," she whispered to him, her eyes darkening up at him, seducing him completely with the pure _need_ radiating off of her. His hands may have killed countless men, but the rough feel of them drove her crazy every time. She guided one of his hands between her legs, brushed his fingers across her panties so he could feel that hot need. And whatever doubts he'd had before suddenly vanished.

Bane sent her a hard gaze, removed his hands from her body and set them on either side of her head, looming over her. "I don't like to be seduced."

She gave him a lazy smile and shrugged one shoulder. "But I do it so well." She reached down, placed her palm on the crotch of his pants to feel him. He may not like being seduced, but he sure reacted enough for her. Camille rubbed him through his pants, felt the hard swell of him, that throb that would drive him insane. "You like it," she said to him softly, and flicked her tongue across one of the tubes of his mask.

Bane growled at her, and grasped her wrist, pulling it up until both of her hands were above her head again. He marveled at how submissive she looked, how tasty.

He refused to believe this had been her plan all along.

Bane leaned down and set his mask against her neck, moving his hands down her arms as the mouthpiece moved down her chest. He cupped her breasts, squeezed them, pulling her bra down some so that the mask could travel over the soft flesh. He felt her shiver, felt her chest dip as she took a deep breath, and wished that the mask was not there so he could taste as well. Bane continued to move down her body, breathing in her skin, feeling the shudder of it as he moved lower. He felt Camille's hands on his head, travelling down with him as the tubes grazed her. And then finally he was at her center, feeling the thrill of revenge that he was now the one driving her crazy instead of the other way around. Bane heard a soft moan from her as he brushed the grate of his mask against her panties, causing the sound to intensify some as he took her thigh to carefully spread her good leg further, and rub the mask on her wet core. He would taste her now if he could, taste the lovely hot response of her desire for him. But instead, he'd settle for this.

He sat back up, sitting again where she'd told him to as she hastily went to work on his pants, her fingers fumbling as she tried to undo them, pulling away the brace that supported his lower back so that she could see more of his skin. Bane leaned forward a little, reaching up to touch her lips when she took hold of his erection, and freed him from the confines.

Camille felt like she was going to explode with wanting. She watched his face as she pumped him with her hand, working him the way she knew he liked best. He loomed over her again, giving her a lovely closeness so she could know how good he was feeling.

"Such lovely eyes," she whispered to him, staring deeply into his face, finding the raspy sounds of his mask just as thrilling as regular breath. She shifted her hand a little, squeezed him, milked him in just the right way. "Does that feel good?" she asked lowly, smirking a little when he groaned, setting his forehead on her shoulder and thrusting into her hand some.

Bane needed more, needed the rest of her. He reached down to rip her panties at the sides and toss them away, settling between her legs so he could enter her, and feel the hot grip of her he was suddenly dying for.

"I want to be on top," she whispered to him, grabbing at his sides to stop him.

Bane sighed, not wanting an interruption. "Camille, you are injured. It will be too uncomfortable. Just relax."

She leaned up a little to suck at the skin of his neck where she knew he was very sensitive. She felt his chest rumble against hers, sat up a little to try and flip him over. "Let me be on top."

He was too hard to argue with her. All he wanted to do was to bury himself inside her body. So Bane wrapped his arms underneath her, minded her leg as he rolled and set her on top of him. He watched her close her eyes some against the sting, open them again with just as much lust as before. She wanted a distraction. This was definitely one she could use.

Camille stared down at him, at this huge hulk of a man that was everything she wanted. It didn't matter that she'd been his lover for over a year. It occurred to her then that she would have this leap of desire, this dazzling rush, every time she saw him for the rest of her life.

Sensing his rising impatience, she set her hands on the pillow, looked down their bodies so that she could maneuver her hips to take him inside her. She sunk down on him, forgetting the world, forgetting everything else except this one lovely feeling. She felt his hand reach to pull his pants down further, away from where they were joined so that perfect sensation was all he could feel. Camille readjusted her strapless bra, knowing Bane loved the sight of her pretty underwear just as much as her naked body. Once he was in as far as he could go, she simply sat there, waiting for the uncomfortable stretch to ease before she would have him. Her whole body shivered again at the sight of him, the man who belonged to her with the perfect body she could never get enough of. She ran her hands up his chest, the solid wall. The weapon.

"You ruined me," she murmured to him, letting out a long breath when she felt him twitch inside her. Her head felt fuzzy, her skin felt like it was sizzling with uncontrollable heat. How could she want him so much? How could she crave the feel of his skin this way? "I never stop thinking about you."

Bane ran his hands up her thighs, the soft thighs spread around him as her wet heat gripped him. No woman had ever said these kinds of things to him and meant it. And to hear them now, to hear it every time she said something like that, was still so foreign that he didn't know what to think. It was difficult to get her out of his mind when he needed it to work and to plan. And maybe, he thought, she was constantly there even then. Bane touched her skin, watched as she began to rock on top of him, and wondered how he could think of anything else when she looked so lovely just like this.

Camille moaned softly as she rolled her hips on him, trying to hold herself up as much as she could on his chest so that her weight wouldn't press on her leg. She wished she could ride him harder, but knew that she would have to take it somewhat easy tonight. Bane could always flip her over and pound into her so that he could come, but she wanted to please him herself. Wanted to take him like this so that she could bring him staggering pleasure.

"Say my name," she whispered, giving him those long, deep rolls of her hips, coating him completely with her arousal.

"Camille," he growled to her softly, moving his hands up to grip her waist. "Lovely Camille. Let me touch you."

His hands grabbed her breasts, feeling the soft bounce in them as she rode him. He moved one hand behind her back, pulled her a little closer as the other moved up her neck. He tapped two of his fingers against her lips, watched intently with dark eyes as she parted them so he could slide those fingers in her mouth. He groaned at the combined feeling of her sucking mouth and the wet grip around his hard cock, felt the intense need to thrust up into her and fuck her like an animal.

Camille then sat back up, holding his hands on her breasts as she continued stimulating him. He gripped her breasts through her bra, kept them there even as she leaned back, placing her hands on his thighs and keeping with that steady rhythm, that wonderful milk of her body on his throbbing erection. She rolled her hips again as she dug her nails into his thighs, appreciating the flex of them every time she would sink down on him, every time she would bring him closer to climax. Her head fell back, a moan escaped her lips, the ends of her black curls brushed his legs.

Bane wouldn't dare to blink in fear that this image of her would go away for even a millisecond. His head felt so dizzy, his mask was making all kinds of grating noises because of his panting, and all he wanted to do was empty inside her, claim her once again as his own. He reached down and grabbed her bottom, gripping her there so that he could steer the motion of her hips now. She was so wet, so tight, causing him to even forget all the stress this city was giving him because of others. He gazed up at her, moaned when she went faster, panting harshly on top of him when she began to cry out and pulsate around him.

"Bane," she breathed loudly, and gasped when she began to come, leaning down and moving her hips faster because he was making her do so with the hold on her ass. She grasped the pillow on each side of his head, whimpered when he kept going, kept taking.

Bane suddenly leaned up and dug the grille of his mask against her neck, digging it into her skin and groaning deeply, making her go faster and faster on his cock. Until finally he emptied, spending himself deep inside her, falling back onto the bed with a satisfying grunt of release.

She caught her breath, feeling filled to the brim from his orgasm as his hands smoothed up her back. She tiredly blew some of her hair out of her face, gazed down at him with big eyes full of pleasure.

No one ever said things to him the way Camille did. And no one, he thought as their hearts calmed down from the gallop, had ever looked at him the way she did all the time. In a way that told him she would be right here.

Always.

Later on, after he'd taken off her bra and kicked away his pants, they rested on their sides facing each other as the fire continued to dance and warm and crackle. Camille's arms were wrapped around his neck as his were wrapped around her waist, pressing themselves against each other so that they could feel the beats of their hearts. Bane stared at her face, knew that the sounds of his mask was something she'd always been used to, and looked into her closed eyes as she waited to drift off. One of his thighs was wedged between hers, giving her bad knee something to rest on as it healed.

The pain in her leg had been completely forgotten.

"Camille," he whispered, knowing she was still awake, and giving up on trying to ignore the question he wanted to ask her.

"Hmm?" she answered sleepily, keeping her eyes closed and nuzzling the mouthpiece of his mask with her lips.

Why was he talking? he asked himself. Why was he thinking about earlier? Why did he want to know something from her that could never, ever happen?

"If I asked you… to be my wife…" He paused, held her a little closer when he didn't feel her flinch. "How would you answer me?"

She didn't even have to think about it. Softly she kissed the grate of his mask, and ran one of her hands along the straps on his face soothingly.

"I would say yes," she whispered back.

_What makes a wife? _

Bane didn't know. And maybe Camille didn't either. But he still believed her when she'd told him she had been a great one. He didn't know how to feel at her answer, thought the flutter underneath his skin annoying so he wouldn't have to delve into it too much. Her answer shouldn't matter. It was something that could never come to pass because of who they were. But if it could… would he ask her?

What… did he feel?

_A wife is someone you find the answers with. Someone who takes care of you._

On those thoughts, Bane drifted off to sleep.

Maybe it wasn't so much a fantasy anymore.

**TBC**

**A/N: I know we haven't had a good sexy chapter in a while. So hopefully this made up for that. And speaking of sexy chapters… Thank you all so much who participated in the contest. I really appreciated it. Now for the winner. And the winner is the wonderful KiaraExodus! Congrats! I will write her scene suggestion, and put it in a future chapter. So be on the lookout for one hot love scene, haha. Thank you so much for all your reviews, darlings. They really keep me going. I have a lot of action and twists and turns planned for you. So keep on reading and reviewing. **


	13. Lullaby for a Dead Man

_**Amaranthine**_

**Chapter 13**

**Lullaby for a Dead Man**

"_Conscious fulfilling, the darkness revealing. All faults and insecurities are shining like the sun. Eyes are deceiving, your mind will stop breathing, and all that you are made of will now rightly become mine." – Elena Siegman_

Time passed. And as it did, all the news reports were exactly the same each and every day.

"_The Gotham Police Department is trying their hardest to bring to justice those who continue to terrorize the city. The criminal called the Joker, his partner Harleen Quinzel, and the mercenary Bane are still at large, and still causing great problems for the citizens of Gotham. Sources tell us their struggle with each other, and with the Italian mob, has become an all-out war. Many have left the city in fear that they will become victims once again to these terrorists. One victim in particular, Dr. Camille Lane of Arkham Asylum, has still not been found and apprehended after she'd been spotted by a law enforcement helicopter on the night of the Joker's unwanted return. The subject is scheduled to be given intense psychiatric care for her rehabilitation of Stockholm Syndrome, and her assumed Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder after her kidnapping and rape by Bane that occurred last year. Our partners have informed us that the vigilante known as the Nightwing is still on the lookout for her, and for the various fugitives. It is best that everyone remain in their homes after ten PM, and allow the police to work to rid us of these bad men and women." _

War had come to Gotham, leaving it like it was before the days of the Batman. More buildings had crumbled at the hands of the Joker, killing hundreds who'd regrettably been left inside to suffer from the blasts, and the rifles from his clown henchmen. No further attempts had been made to kidnap the supposed head of the Italian Mob, Tony Zucco, or anyone else of high status. The Joker simply wanted Gotham to fall apart. Fall apart at his feet so that he could play with the remains. And Harley Quinn, ever devoted to the one who lit the sky for her, helped him however she could.

The Italians were a large group, and held their own efficiently. And oddly enough, the decision had been made that the Joker could wait before they would get rid of him and his little girlfriend. Their real problem, the one who worried them the most, was Bane and his army of skilled mercenaries. Gathering with all who partnered with them, they were constantly on the lookout for Bane, wanting word within thirty seconds if anyone should happen to spot him. And when they did, although it was rare, they would attack in an instant, and try to rid themselves of their greatest threat.

It was hard for Bane to decipher who actually he should give most of his attention to. The mob was large and a nuisance to him, and still considered to have the most power over Gotham because of that size and their contacts even within the system. But the Joker was mad, and extremely crafty. Gotham was disappearing, one building at a time, and Bane couldn't simply allow another to do the job that was his, and the League's. The Joker's men were also a lot more ruthless and maniacal than the mobsters, and causing him great annoyance because of those weaknesses. So he did the best he could. He kept his army alive, and capable. And destroyed anyone he could find that were involved with his two opponents. Gotham would burn, and he would be the one to do it. But the ones who were trying to take that away from him had to be disposed of first.

And the police… The poor police were at their wit's end. Even with the help of the Nightwing, they were hardly getting anywhere. Whatever mercenary or clown or Italian they brought into custody, it didn't matter in the end. The clown henchmen were insane. The Italians were never in jail longer enough right before some high priced lawyer would come to their rescue. And the mercenaries sat as still as a statue without ever saying a word. So much loyalty, and not enough arrests.

Camille Lane was forgotten at times. How could they rescue her when she was most likely causing her own suffering by choosing to stay with the one who had kidnapped and raped her? The rape had been confirmed by the doctor who'd examined her, which made her a high priority. But if they could catch the Joker or Bane first, they had to give her up every time.

Detective Zachery Beck, who'd taken over for Commissioner Jim Gordon, had no problem leaving her to rot with her rapist.

Dr. Lane had been snotty to him. And for that, he put her on the back burner when another officer would ask him about her. Oh, one day he would rescue her. When he was ready to, of course. But until then, he had bigger fish to fry. And only after Bane and the Joker were behind bars because of him, he would finally carry Camille Lane himself through the doors of the police station, and be declared a war hero. He deserved it. He deserved all the glory. And he could care less about a temperamental little nothing of a suicidal woman who had once talked back to him.

And that was exactly what Lane deserved from him.

Beck sent more men on patrol, and couldn't wait to read the inevitable headlines.

* * *

His hand was tangled in Camille's hair, holding her curls at the scalp because that was how he usually slept beside her. With both of them on their stomachs, he had a satisfying grip with her head turned away from him, the covers pulled down to her naked hips with her arms spread out. The fist in her hair felt like nothing other than what always happened when they would sleep, and she found that it had never bothered her in the least.

Bane was grabby during sleep. And she was restless.

It made for interesting nights.

When he heard the sound of the door to the apartment within the factory that was their base of operations open, Bane's eyes regrettably fluttered awake, causing him to grumble into the pillow before looking to the unwanted visitor.

Barsad closed the door behind him, and began approaching them.

Annoyance flooded Bane as he sat up in bed, not because he was indecent, but because he'd been sleeping. Looking down at the woman who was now stirring beside him, he took the sheets and pulled them up over Camille's bare back to cover her nakedness.

Barsad didn't seem to care.

Camille awkwardly kept herself facing away from the men, pulling the sheet up to her chin as Barsad conversed with Bane. Never had he entered Bane's room like this before, especially when he knew of what they did most nights, and that they would be incapable of conversation because they would be without clothes. Barsad should know better, she told herself, curling her limbs into a ball now that her sleep had been interrupted.

The only reason why he was doing it now was to make her uncomfortable.

After the night Harley Quinn had hurt her leg, and Barsad had said inappropriate things to her, Camille had not given in to his behavior. She worked with him because she had to, and kept the way he was treating her away from Bane because it was rather childish. If Barsad was upset because he thought she was just another form of Talia that had come to hurt Bane, then she wouldn't waste breath to convince him of something different. And if he was jealous of Bane's affections towards her, then nothing could be done from that either. Camille would not participate in something that was nonsense to her. And she would not give in to Barsad and cry to Bane because he was simply being mean to her.

Bane didn't have time for this. There was so much else for him to do. So she kept him out of it, and tried not to let it affect their plans.

But it continued to irk her that Barsad was succeeding in making her uncomfortable.

He spoke to Bane in Arabic, and was talking too fast for her to pick up on any words that had been taught to her during the course of her training. No doubt discussing future plans or giving him an update, she assumed, and stayed quiet until he would leave. She stretched her leg, happy that it had fully healed and that the bruising had finally gone away, and gave up on trying to listen in on their discussion.

Bane answered him in the same language, not seeming to care about his own indecency even though the sheets were tangled around his hips, and pointed in different directions, giving Barsad some kind of orders to the latest dilemma. Barsad nodded, went to carry them out.

Bane spoke to him again, this time deeply, and a little dangerously. He stared at Barsad with a warning gaze, held the look until his second walked off and out.

Barsad would now think twice before entering his room the way that he did. Especially when Bane had a naked woman sleeping next to him.

He does it on purpose, Camille wanted to say. But for Barsad's sake, in an odd way, she remained quiet about it.

"What did he want?" she asked, trying not to make a big deal out of the invasion of privacy.

"He had a few questions about various vantage points. I apologize for his rudeness." Bane returned himself onto his back on the bed, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands.

Camille didn't know much about Barsad. But she knew that he was very close to Bane, and very loyal. They even referred to themselves as each other's brothers, and that had never bothered her. But to be treated differently because she was something else to Bane didn't seem all that fair at times. Barsad had been fine with her when she'd first started sleeping with Bane. But now that she was a constant, it was obviously hard for him to handle.

"How did you meet him?"

Bane mused over her question, realized that he had not thought of the answer to it in so long. To him, it felt like Barsad had always been with him. But to remember it now, it felt like a lifetime had passed. And in a way, a lifetime really had passed. He glanced over at Camille as she turned onto her back, pulling her arms out from underneath the sheets to make herself more comfortable.

It was still somewhat odd, even after all this time, to have a woman constantly sleeping next to him. And at the same time, he couldn't imagine her not ever being there.

Life seemed to be full of mixed emotions.

"I met Barsad in South Africa, where he is originally from. I was sent on a mission by Ra's al Ghul, taking a few men with me so that we could investigate a certain… group that had a reputation within a few countries. We had learned that the South African government had been using convicted felons to carry out their orders, using them as disposable assets for high-risk black ops missions that they wouldn't spare their best soldiers for. In exchange for their services, they would receive clemency on their prison sentences. Barsad was a valued member of this group, used mostly as a marksmen." Bane could remember when he'd been told that the marksmen of the group had been known to never miss. And when Barsad had tried shooting Bane during their very first encounter, that streak had come to an end. He grinned at the memory. "He was very good. Very young and misled, but good. And with the right discipline, he had the makings of being great. But at the time I met him, he was just a puppet for those in the system to use."

"So you brought him to the League of Shadows?"

Bane looked ahead at nothing, and was brought back to Barsad's worst moment. "No, not at first. You see… Barsad did not care about the clemency as much as the leverage the government held over him. Barsad was a young father to a little girl. And South Africa held her against him so that he would carry out their wishes. I knew… exactly how he felt, concerning her." Bane thought back to the wild anger in Barsad's eyes when he'd screamed at Bane that he had to kill him to keep her safe. And to see that, to see that anger and know just what it felt like, had stopped Bane from doing away with one of the group's members so he could carry out his own orders. "So I offered to help him get his daughter back. And in return, he would find a proper home for her and come with me to Ra's al Ghul. Barsad accepted. And we tried."

Camille tried to imagine Barsad as a father. It was hard, because she really only knew the nasty side of him, or the skills he had as an assassin. But she believed Bane's story, and knew that that moment was what had bonded them. She may not be able to fully understand because she was the one Barsad hated, but she could see how a brotherhood had formed from misery. "You tried," she repeated, and knew where this story was going.

"We were not successful in rescuing her. They had killed her a long time ago. And Barsad… He begged me to kill him. But there was more for him. I could see it. And in the end, I took him away from Africa. Shortly after, he joined the League of Shadows and has been by my side ever since. He even left with me after I'd been excommunicated." Bane turned onto his side facing her when his back began to ache, and stared at her sleepy face. "But that does not give him the right to glance at what is mine."

Camille looked over at him, wondered exactly what Bane would do if he knew of Barsad's feelings towards her. She found that she didn't want to come between them. Found that maybe she felt… a little inadequate when it came to how they felt about each other. There were so many downsides to telling him, so she kept it quiet. But she would be lying to herself if she thought that Bane didn't at least _suspect_ something. He was the smartest man she knew. Reaching over with one of her hands, she softly touched his mask and decided not to think about Barsad anymore.

It was hard to live here in Gotham. Almost harder than before, because all of a sudden she was blasted across the news, talked about by the media and every other person walking the streets. The police and the news people could report civilized speculations all they wanted about her and Bane. It was what went on outside of that that had a more profound effect. But as she touched his face, as she watched his eyelids lower from that touch, she wondered how she could listen to them at all. Her other half. The man she would say yes to if she could.

And the whole world now had a false image of him.

"I know what they call me," she said softly, moving her fingers over his skin, over the metal that was just as familiar. The sheets around her naked body could never warm her as much as the simple act of touching him could.

"I know you do," he answered, a little surprised that she would bring it up. He knew Camille hated what the city believed of them, of him. But it had been the only way to keep her safe after she'd left him, and if she would ever be brought back to the system again. "Does it bother you?"

She sighed, ran her hand down his neck. "The name doesn't. This whole lie does."

"That lie is for your protection. Miss Quinzel does not have something like that to fall back on. But you do."

She rolled her eyes at him. "Oh yes. I love how the whole city thinks you raped me and then infected me with Stockholm syndrome just so you can keep doing it. I never liked… labeling you that way."

"And why does it matter? Do you think if the citizens of Gotham found out they had been given misleading information that they would pity me? Do you believe the little bird would carry you off to jail for lying to the police about a man they consider a terrorist? Knowing the truth will only harm you. Continuing with the lie gives you advantage over the people. They may call you something horrible, but to them you will always be a victim. And therefore, safe."

Camille sat up in bed, wrapped the sheets around her body. She knew Bane was telling the truth, believed that he always knew what was best for them. But being a rape victim had never sat well with her, if only so that Bane wouldn't be looked upon as something even more horrible than what he already was. She hated what both of them had become in the eyes of the media and those of the citizens. And sometimes, the name those who hated Bane had given her would follow her home.

_Monster whore. _

Well, she thought as she brushed her messy curls back, it was better than being the poor, sad little girl they'd seen before she had made a commitment to her supposed monster. She wondered who had come up with it, realized that she knew a ton of people who could have done so.

It was how the city looked at her when they weren't seeing her as a lie. And Camille found that she didn't care too much.

Maybe, she thought as she looked back down at him, it was all worth it. She felt his fingers along her bare back, and confirmed that thought.

* * *

Later, he'd dressed in a dark long-sleeved shirt to help with the cold, his mask at one point in the night blowing out the steamy evidence of freezing air. The factory couldn't heat itself any other way except for the fires they would build throughout it, giving some kind of warmth to him and his mercenaries. And with his arms crossed and a calm set to his eyes, Bane watched the news and the face upon it that had once given Camille such grief.

The news channel was broadcasting an important press conference with none other than the man they were all hoping would help save them from people like him. Detective Beck dressed formally for the occasion, trying to seem just as big as the determined set of his strong jawline, and equally determined eyes. He brushed his buzz-cut hair back on camera, sending little snow flurries up into the air as the others held umbrellas over their heads. The reporters around him asked all kinds of questions, jutting out their microphones if they hadn't been lucky enough to hook it to the podium. Bane simply watched on the television, and listened.

"The investigation is ongoing," Beck told the reporters, giving the standard line when they really had nothing new to report, or to hand out. "Let me once again assure you that my men are working around the clock to apprehend the criminal known as the Joker and the mercenary Bane. Everyone in high status within the city is being looked into after the unfortunate betrayal of Miranda Tate from the revolution."

"Detective." A young man from Channel 4 shouted for his attention, furiously writing on a yellowpad notebook. "Has the mercenary Bane taken any other hostages?"

"Not that have been reported. Camille Lane is still the only known victim."

"Your department tells us that Dr. Lane suffers from Stockholm syndrome. And yet she was seen not too long ago, standing alone without her captor after a failed kidnapping. That footage from the helicopter doesn't seem to show a woman in distress."

Bane watched Beck clench his jaw, pausing for a moment before answering. "My department made that statement without my consent after she fled the country last year. I have speculation to believe that the only thing Camille Lane suffers from is a poor judgment in the men she chooses to tangle up with. I question the prognosis of the Stockholm syndrome, the Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, and the rape itself. Dr. Lane has once shown suicidal tendencies in the past. I believe that has contributed to her current dilemma."

And surprisingly, even to Bane, Jim Gordon made himself seen. He looked thinner, older. The years of being a cop on Gotham streets weighing heavily in his already exhausted eyes. But only this time, it wasn't a pair of legs that waved the detective aside. Sitting in his wheelchair because Bane had once paid him a late night visit with a gun, he brushed Beck aside with an annoyed glare, and took one of the microphones from the stand.

"Research has shown us that Dr. Lane is suffering," he began, his voice weary and a little defeated. "Anyone can have whatever speculations they want. The only thing that matters is that we find Bane and whatever other crazy lunatic that wants to run the streets, and help those who were caught in the crossfire. Camille Lane will be rescued, and given the proper treatment for recovery. Once again, the investigation is ongoing. This conference is done."

Bane switched off the television.

Camille had once told him that this curious detective questioned her story. And now that he'd made his doubt public, others would question as well. It would be hard to keep Camille's only protection intact. If for some reason she was taken away and to the police, she always had her torture to use to keep her from being arrested and tried. And now this man called Beck was willing to disturb their peace.

He would have to be taken care of soon.

Maybe Camille was exposing herself too much. Maybe it wasn't such a good idea to let her wander around the city now, especially when others would wonder if she'd ever been raped at all. It would be extremely difficult to get her back if the police or the Nightwing took her away. And most likely, since it concerned him, impossible.

Even though he knew Camille could take care of herself, something she'd proved back in India, Bane didn't know if he was willing to risk something like that.

He'd let her go out once again. She wouldn't tell him exactly where she was going, but he'd stepped aside as she'd dressed and let her go all the same. She hadn't been gone for long, but the last trip she had taken by herself had been hours long. So long at the silly salon she liked going to that Bane had wondered what on earth could possibly take so much time. Camille shouldn't go out like that anymore, he decided, discovering that he was now pacing the space of the studio apartment they shared. She couldn't go out by herself because too many people were looking for her, and most of them only because of her connection to him. The Joker's men knew of their relationship because the clown had no doubt told them of it. And now that she had an unfortunate nickname from the people of Gotham, not many people would be willing to rescue her like the damsel in distress others believed her to be. If something happened to her…

It was odd, he found as he sat at the table to begin running morphine into his body, to feel this way now for the woman who had once given him the worst news of his life. Camille had been the one to tell him of Talia's death, successfully ripping him apart at the time, something no other person besides that dead woman could have done. And now it was Camille that was in harm's way. Why was that one thought suddenly so threatening? Why did it seem like something was crawling into his chest, and wanting to squeeze a vital organ?

He couldn't go through that a second time. Couldn't go through with having some other person tell him of Camille's death, and possibly making it feel like how Talia's had felt. She needed to stay safe. She needed to be kept close so that he could watch her.

There would be no second chance to rip him apart.

Making the decisions, Bane looked behind him as the door opened and Camille strolled in, carrying a plastic bag in her hand. She pulled off her leather jacket, revealing the cropped black long-sleeved shirt underneath that went with her matching high-waisted skirt and boots. Her hair must have annoyed her in the cold wind since she'd pulled it back, leaving it a long, black tail behind her. Her lips, painted a dark pink, smacked at him as she set the bag onto the table, eyeing the tubes to check the flow of the morphine just in case.

"You will injure your leg again if you continue to wear those boots," he told her casually, holding the needle into his skin as she removed her scarf.

"I'll trip without the lift. I brought you something." She reached for the plastic bag, pulled out a white Styrofoam container.

Bane eyed it, giving it a strange look as he noticed some kind of orange liquid spilling out from the sides and leaking onto the bottom. The same orange substance was puddled here and there in the bag, sending off an odd smell that seemed familiar. The smell hit him again full force all of a sudden, and once she pulled out a plastic fork, he saw that she'd brought him food.

"Judging by the overpowering scent of garlic cloves and sausage, I assume this is your Italian food?"

"Yes," she answered with a smile, lifting the Styrofoam lid and showing him the vast amount of steaming noodles and meat sauce. "Spaghetti and meatballs. The best in town. You'll try some."

Bane stared at it, noticed that it continued to leak. "I don't even know how to begin to consume that."

"I'll help you. It's not that hard, so just relax. Watch me." She swirled the noodles onto the fork, causing more drips of sauce to fall back into the heap, and popped it into her mouth. On a long hum of approval, she smiled at him again. "It has the potential to be extremely messy, but I'll help you along."

Bane sat still as she removed his mask for him, and was given no time at all before she was holding out another forkful.

"This is good, Bane. You said you'd never tried it because it seemed time consuming. So open up and taste."

She put her hand underneath his chin, and fed him his very first bite.

It was extremely flavorful, and no doubt a taste that would stay for a long time. Bane had never had Italian food before, and to taste it now seemed overpowering to his sense. But once he got used to the taste, and also the powerful smell, he decided that it wasn't that bad. Camille cut one of the two huge meatballs in half, and fed him that as well.

Using the same fork, she fed herself in between his bites, knowing that he only had so much time to eat. And once the whole container was almost gone in a matter of minutes because Bane was used to eating as quickly as possible, she decided that it had been a success. She handed him a napkin so he could wipe his mouth before putting the mask back on.

Bane groaned when the painkillers raked his body again, sagging a little in the chair because he'd used a few extra of those precious minutes for the rest of the food. And once the cooling effect of the drugs fizzled out the scorching heat of his pain, he simply sat and breathed, and waited for it to pass. Once Camille had cleaned the mess, he reached out to take her hand as she passed him, and placed her palm on his shoulder.

Camille abandoned whatever else she'd thought about doing to touch him. Maybe he didn't want to come right out and tell her that he was hurting, but he needed her now, and she would soothe him. Placing her other hand on him, she squeezed his shoulders to help the return of blood flow over the pain.

She rarely did this for him because he rarely asked, or made an inclination like he had now. But each time she did massage him, she had to put every pound of her body weight into it. Bane was like a mountain, so solid and heavy that she wondered how any small baby could grow up to be this way. And maybe that solid structure of his had been what she wished she had, if only to be so immovable that no one could ever push you around simply because it would be impossible. Bane could never be a victim like she had been.

It was what she'd wished for herself all her life.

"Do you feel better?" she asked, feeling the familiar warmth of his body return to him.

Bane nodded as she smoothed her hands over his back, and tried to brush the other worries away.

There was a knock on the door. Camille opened it and stepped back as Zaid, Barsad, and a few of the other men within his most inner circle entered, walking over to Bane with some kind of news. Zaid had one of his many laptops under his arm, his baggy rags hanging off his slim frame and his brown skin gleaming with what could've been anticipation. Bane stood, and waited for a report.

"We caught one of Tony Zucco's lackey's at some club last night," Zaid began, his frizzy hair held back by a sweatband. "We had one of the guy's record his conversation with whoever it was he'd met there, only to gain some kind of insight to this big organization they have going. Anyway, this huge version of Rob De Niro ends up going on and on about Zucco's disk he has, which apparently has everything you'd need to be the big head of the mobsters. We're talking account numbers, locations, connections within the system and the city, names included. If this disk exists, then it has on it what we need to have an advantage over them. Like, supreme advantage," he said enthusiastically, wondering if he sounded as smart as he thought he did. "Every partner, every base, every cent this guy pulls in. With this information, we can weasel him out so he has nowhere to go. His connections would be shot to hell if we take them over. Zucco's life is on this disk, and if we have that, then nothing can be sprung on us."

Bane lifted a brow. He would rather have facts than simple assumptions. "I've yet to be convinced, Mr. Zaid. Why would I choose a computer disk over the man himself?"

His leader didn't seem all that angry just yet. So Zaid continued. "This information can give you not only an advantage over the mob, but over the Joker as well. We want to bring the mob down. For as big an organization as this, you need to infect it from the inside. I'm not saying this information can solve all our problems," he said with a shrug. "But I am saying that it's worth it to get it. It doesn't have to be a big to-do. But we could send someone to retrieve it. If they find it, great. If they don't, then whatever, we'll just think of something else."

Bane felt as if this was a waste of time. "This man could be lying. This disk could be imaginary."

"Hey, the way I see it, if a guy is talking about something for business while some stripper named Bambi is grinding up against him, then it might be worth a shot. Guys have a hard time lying when they're busy with other things, you know? If someone can get into Zucco's house and at least look for it, then I think it would benefit us if we actually had it."

Bane shook his head. "No one would be willing to do that. If a man was, then that is on his own time. But as for an order, none will come from me."

"I can go get it."

All the men turned around to face Camille, who suddenly felt like flinching. Zaid seemed to have perked up from her offering, more concerned over having something technical to play with if it existed or not. And once she looked to Bane, she knew what answer she would get by his emotionless face alone.

"No," he answered simply.

She didn't want to question him in front of his men. Camille may be Bane's lover, but she was also one of his soldiers. To speak out against him was something none of them would do, if only for respect purposes. But she felt as if she'd done nothing during her few days of recovery for her leg. Now, she wanted to be useful again. "What would be the harm in it? I would go to Zucco's house and look for it."

"You wish to enter an Italian Mob boss's home without any protection just to search for something _he_ wants?" Bane asked, gesturing to Zaid, who remained absolutely still.

"I didn't have any protection when I took the plane, did I? It's the same thing."

"It is not the same thing," Bane countered lowly, not seeming to care about the uncomfortable looks of his men. "In India you had a goal. In India we knew the layout. This goal could very well be nothing. And we would not be around the corner to assist you if you needed it."

Camille felt like sighing, but knew better. "This could help you, Bane. Why not take the chance?"

He lifted a hand to silence her. "_You_ are the one who suggested we kidnap Zucco. _You _are the one who told us that it would be a waste of time to pursue any other avenue. Are you going back on your own ideas, Camille? Are you willing to risk your life for something that you were opposed to in the beginning?"

"I'm not going back on anything," she said, wondering if she should be embarrassed that each man in the room would turn his head in both her and Bane's direction depending on who was speaking. "But I think we should be prepared, and gather at least some kind of leverage over him. You said anyone could go if they wanted to. "

"You are different."

Camille instantly shut her mouth before she could say anything else. So this is what it was, she thought, watching him. She was different. All of a sudden she was different. The whole city thought she was a whore when they weren't thinking she was a victim. And now the men in the room would think she was lower than them as well. Camille had never cared about what they thought of her. But she had wanted some kind of respect. And now, it seemed like it was gone after those words.

Bane stared at her, his arms crossed. It wouldn't matter if they found this information or not. If it were anyone else, he would wish them luck and allow them to go to what could be their doom, if that was what they really wanted. But as he looked at her now, all he could see was something going wrong if she were the one to leave. And all he could feel was more bad news.

_There will be no second opportunity to grieve._

"The answer is no," he said firmly, and in a way that made it the final word.

The men filed out behind Camille after orders had been given. Bane turned away to go about doing whatever work was calling his name. She didn't want to think she was mad, but she was annoyed.

Why was she suddenly not good enough to do what needed to be done? If Bane didn't think she was capable all of a sudden, then why had her time in India mattered at all? She had worked so hard to get to this point, this point of staying with him in a way that could be useful because that was what _he_ had told her in the first place. What he had wanted. Was it because she got hurt on the last mission?

Was it because he didn't trust her enough anymore?

Suddenly, that annoyance turned into anger.

She hadn't trained in India for a year just to look pretty on Bane's arm. She hadn't learned all that she'd learned, gone through what she'd gone through just to hang back and wait for him to come home. Camille had earned her place here, and now he was telling her no. Inadequacy fell upon her chest, fanning the flames of her angry fire. She had thought that Bane considered her as much a part of the army as even Barsad. But apparently she'd been wrong. Apparently she really was only here to continue to take care of him like she had before her training.

That long year suddenly seemed like a waste.

She didn't want to think that Bane was controlling her again. She didn't want to be told no to something she was completely willing to do.

She wouldn't, because he _didn't _control her. She wasn't different. She didn't need to be _protected_.

And then, like a breeze, the anger drifted away.

She left the apartment with a soft smile.

* * *

The next day was uneventful. The Joker had taken another building, not seeming to care about the pattern, only interested in keeping the cops guessing about where exactly he'd be the next time an explosion erupted in the sky. Bane hadn't seemed to care about anything, even Camille's words from the previous day. And she never brought it up again. Making peace, she'd pulled him close to her during the night and rubbed his back for warmth.

Now, Bane sat at the desk in the apartment, the day gone to waste because it was too worrisome to wander around when the cops were crawling the streets. He stared down at a giant map of Gotham City, all of the buildings the Joker had destroyed circled with red ink in hopes of finding some kind of pattern. But so far, it was just a jumble of various red circles. Nothing significant, nothing useful.

He was a hard one to track down.

Bane sat up and cracked his neck from side to side, wondering why he felt so stressed. He hadn't felt this way before, with Talia. Gotham had been just another job, a job that would end their lives, but important nonetheless. And keeping the entire city secluded from the rest of the world should have been much more stressful than what he was going through now. But if Bane was honest with himself, it seemed like this chance at Gotham came with so much more.

The Joker and the mob were making things difficult. The Nightwing and the police were constantly on the move. Barsad was acting strange. The face of a dead girl wouldn't leave him alone. And Camille…

Camille was his creation. So why was he wanting to tie her up and lock her in the closet if only so that he would know exactly where she was?

Bane shook his head and convinced himself to stop thinking so irrationally. Camille _was_ his creation, and could take care of herself. He didn't have to pathetically fear bad news every time she went out. He didn't have to think of risks every time she would go into the field with them. She knew how to protect herself, knew how to fight. He'd taught her himself. She'd already been through enough to guarantee herself survival.

Nothing to worry about because there was no worry here.

It was only making him feel more stressed.

The sound of heels behind him made him glance at the map for a few moments more. Maybe there was something here and he just wasn't seeing it. And maybe it was just chaos in the form of an annoying clown. The heels stopped along the floor as the few lights in the apartment cast shadows along the walls. Still reading, he faintly heard the door being locked and secured into place. The deadbolt was next, but he paid no attention to it as he stared at streets and businesses.

His eyes flew up when he heard Camille softly begin to sing.

He used to catch her singing in India, when she would be cleaning or when he would play the guitar for relaxation. But her voice sounded different to him now, something flowing out of her mouth that would match a look in her eyes. Soft and silky, and full of heat.

_Come a little bit closer before we begin. Let me tell you how I want it, and exactly what I need._

Bane turned around in the chair to face her as her voice simmered in the air like a flame.

Camille stood by the door wearing his long brown coat. She could have looked silly as the hem softly brushed along the floor because of her height, the fabric seeming to swallow her as the sleeves covered even her hands. Her curls were tied into a ponytail, shiny and loose, so very long because she would never let him cut it. She'd lined her eyes with some smoky powder, her brows and lashes standing out against the white of her skin. Her lips were painted neutral because her eyes were so dark, whispering over to him as she sang, making him feel like they were miles apart instead of a few feet. But all of those things about her now could be cast aside. She was giving him a certain look.

That look he was trying to figure out how to fight. Bane tilted his head to the side some as her voice drifted to him again.

_I'm here for one drug. I'm only here for one thing._

And when she shrugged off his coat, he could have cursed himself for falling into her trap as his eyes instantly lowered to her body. But what he saw made him forget exactly why he would be cursing himself to begin with.

Camille allowed him to look at each and every inch of her. She'd chosen a dark burgundy as the color for her lingerie, something she had never worn for him during her time as his lover. But it adorned her now, hugging over every curve, every toned muscle of the body he'd helped create. The bra was semi-transparent, meshing well with the tight, lace-up corset that opened at her breasts, tight against her middle. A garter belt was wrapped around her hips, hooking to the dark thigh highs that covered her legs all the way down to the heels on her feet. Her panties were black, just a small panel of fabric that could be ripped away so very easily.

Maybe he could withstand it, he thought as he continued to look at all the pretty little pieces that covered her. If he didn't look at her face and only concentrated on everything beneath it, maybe he could find the strength and avert his eyes so that he could finally win at this. But Camille kept singing to him. And in a split second, he couldn't have looked away from her for anything in the world.

Bane was sure she was the sin of lust in human form.

_Can you fly like you're free?_

Camille smiled at him, that smile that made him feel like she could punch him in the face and it would feel like less. Her lips curved into a half grin as she took a step closer, her heels clicking on the floor. The look in his eyes told her he was lost, and she would take him further still. With a sway of her hips, she began to dance, keeping that smile on her face to destroy him.

_Get a little bit higher, so we can fall till we bleed. _

She shook her head at him when he almost stood up, mentioning for him to sit back down and wait for her. "You can only look," she told him, appreciating the way he was now gripping the arms of the chair. "But I can touch."

_Push a little bit harder. Pull me into the speed._

She reached up and yanked the straps of her bra right off, snapping them from the cups and tossing them aside. She then continued to dance and sing for him, twirling around in slow circles so he could see the rest of her, knowing his eyes couldn't stop wandering. She noticed something flicker in them when she pulled the tie from her hair, letting her curls fall down her back and over her skin. She was nearing him now, deciding that the distance between them would be used to her advantage. And to pull him in even further, she began sliding her hands all along her body, unhooking and unlacing something on her in their path. She was only a very short couple of feet away now.

Bane still felt like it was a mile.

_So tell me, can you feel this? _

In front of him, she yanked open her corset top, the hooks popping on the way down before it fell to the floor. And as his eyes wandered back up to hers, she took her last step, and sat in his lap.

_Are you ready to awaken? Are you ready to feed? _

The man was a liar, she thought, gesturing for him to keep his hands right where they were. He said he didn't like being seduced. But the look on his face now, and the reaction she was feeling under her bottom, told her differently. Camille brought her face close to his, hearing the mask hiss with his breaths, and ran her hands up his chest until they reached the collar of his shirt.

And then she ripped it in half. Ripped it to shreds until he was bare to her.

His eyes flashed at her, but she ignored him and whispered, "Keep your hands right there. No touching until I tell you."

She lifted herself up a little in his lap, pulling her arms up as she slid her bra over her head. And then went her panties, until the only thing covering her was the garter belt, thigh highs, and heels. Bane felt a growl form in his chest as he watched her. He tried so hard to focus only on her face, but how could he, when the rest of her looked so very delicious? But he was still sane enough to know that he'd fallen for her tricks again. And he wasn't sure if he could let it go this time. With every ounce of his strength he could muster against her, he found some inkling of control past his desire to take her, and decided that this time, he would come out victorious.

The only way to beat her was to fight fire with fire.

Camille began moving her hands along her body again, grinding her pelvis against his every now and then to feel his growing arousal. And when she knew that she was wet enough, she shook her curls behind her back, and moved her hand between her legs.

Bane's eyes followed the path of her hand, and simply watched.

She rubbed herself first, running her other hand up and down his arm, over his shoulder and down his chest repeatedly, the very touch of his body enticing her further. She knew that Bane loved to watch her pleasure herself, and sighed some when she slid two of her fingers into her heat, and felt what he craved, what he did when he would be inside her. She could feel his erection straining against the zipper of his pants, relished in the fact that he was growing harder as he watched her bring herself closer to the edge. She moaned softly as her skin quivered, as she rubbed herself some more before she would dip her fingers back into her core, feeling the pressure beginning to build under his watchful gaze. He was oddly being obedient, keeping his hands on the arms of the chair, listening to her as he always did when she would coerce him into these situations.

And when she was too far gone to notice anything else besides the feel of his body and her own hand bringing her pleasure, she never even noticed that Bane was keeping his self-restraint for once.

Although it was extremely hard to do.

Camille moaned again, moved her fingers in and out with great purpose now. And when she spoke next, her voice was consumed with desire, her body shivering for release.

"I need you," she said breathlessly, leaning her head on his shoulder as she continued, trying to bring herself to a climax she couldn't quite reach on her own. "Touch me now. I need you, I need you… I want you, Bane."

He didn't know where this newfound composure had come from, but he grasped onto it completely. Camille was lost on his lap, so lost that he would join her very soon. But he would control her now, for all the times she'd taken him away with her pretty face, her searching eyes, and that body he would pleasure now himself. Calmly, Bane reached down and brushed her fingers aside, replacing them with his own. She groaned against the bigger stretch from his large fingers, a stretch that was different this time because he'd only ever used one on her before. But when he started to move them, when he rubbed against the very inside of her, nothing but sensation seemed to matter.

Bane could tell she was ending from the pulsating grip around his fingers. She cried out when he suddenly curled them inside her, almost like he were pulling her closer as she came, moving her hips a little to ride it out. Once she was done, Bane reached up with his free hand and pulled her head back by her curls so he could see her face, and was greeted with her lusting eyes that had not yet been slated.

"I'm not done," she told him, groaning a little when he pulled on her hair. "I'm not done with you. I'll have you this way." She lifted herself up some, still too hot and hungry as she impatiently waited for him to reach for his pants. "I'll ride your lap."

Oh no, he thought as he stared at her darkly. Control was his now. And he would keep it. "Not this time," he answered deeply, and made her suck on his fingers before gently setting her onto the floor. He made no move to stand as he looked at her lingerie again, or what was left of it. "On your knees, my darling Camille."

Instantly she complied, arousal gripping her, the sound of his voice enticing her. She lowered onto her knees in front of him as he sat in the chair, patiently waiting for her to unzip his pants and pull his erection out. She had to work to free him, struggling a little with all the buckles and straps that kept him safe and comfortable. Until finally she wrapped her hand around him, and leaned forward to taste.

He watched her for a moment before his vision started to cloud. The sight of her pouty mouth around his cock, the feel of that mouth so wet and hot and tight causing that control to finally slip away. He groaned deeply when she gently ran her teeth up his shaft, leaning his head back and giving in to her like she had wanted him to. Camille took him into her mouth as far as she could, sucked hard at the head as she pumped the rest of him, and feeling the flex of his thighs that told her he was very much enjoying what she was doing to him.

Until finally he couldn't take it anymore, couldn't take not touching her, couldn't take not being inside her. He needed to have her now, needed to feel those adorned legs around him as he took what was his. He would end now if he continued to hear the soft little noises her mouth made as she pleasured him, or from the feel of her hand that was slicked from her saliva. With a growl, he stopped her, lifted her up and tossed her to the bed as his gentleness disappeared like his control. He furiously pulled his pants off, grabbed her ankles and yanked her to the edge of the bed as he stood before her. With his feet planted firmly on the ground, he spread her burgundy legs open.

"You make such pretty sounds when you come, my darling," he said huskily, taking her hips and keeping her in place so that she could take every inch of him. "I want to hear them again."

With a snap of his hips, Bane pushed inside her. And rode her until he was just as blind as she was.

Camille moaned and whimpered beneath him, telling him things as he pumped inside her, sweet, breathless things that would drive him crazy. When she would sense him about to finish, she would stop it with a grip around his cock, telling him to move her this way, or fuck her that way. They panted as they fought each other, as she would climb over him only to be pushed back and spread again. As he pushed in and out of her, making her body bounce and have him, he sighed deeply when she lifted her hand to his face, and caressed his cheek. His mask clicked and hissed from his movements against her hand as he turned his face into her palm, his grip on her covered thighs hard and a little dangerous.

But Camille had always been able to take his strength.

He made her come again, reaching his own orgasm once her walls tightened as he continued to thrust into her. He pushed all the way inside her and spilled, warming her, filling her. Finally sating her.

Bane had felt proud when he had found the strength not to give in to her completely. Each time she had seduced him, he had gone along with it for reasons he wasn't quite sure of. Reasons he was beginning to think had everything to do with his wanting and need for her. But this time had been different. This time he had won, and reduced her to a puddle of satisfaction. He fell asleep feeling accomplished, and a little smug.

He didn't know that it had been Camille's plan all along.

As Bane slept beside her, utterly spent from their long session of sex, she was wide awake.

She had to clean up some before she dressed. She had to take off the rest of her lingerie and wipe away any body fluids that were still along the inside of her thighs. But first she had to get an exhausted Bane off of her.

He grunted some in his sleep when she gently and slowly kicked off his leg that he'd draped over her thigh. And with a soft grasp around his wrist, she pulled his hand away from her breast he'd fallen asleep touching. As quiet as he'd taught her how to be, she slipped out of bed to dress.

After she pulled on her leather jacket, Camille walked to the side of the bed and watched him sleep for a few moments. Of course he would be angry when he found her missing, no doubt deciphering in a millisecond exactly where she'd gone. But she had to help him. She had to do this because she wasn't different. Because she was part of the army too. She didn't want to anger him, but she would get him what he needed.

Camille took Bane's wrist again, softly placed a plum colored kiss upon his hand.

And left the base to retrieve valuable information from Tony Zucco.

**TBC**

**A/N: I know I should have updated a while ago. But I've been going through a few difficulties that had worn me down. The love scene here was the winner of the contest, and I was so happy to write it for my good friend. I hope you enjoyed it, love. Leave me some reviews, my darlings. I definitely need them right now. And thank you so much for being patient. **


	14. Gethsemane

_**Amaranthine**_

**Chapter 14**

**Gethsemane **

"_I knew you never before, I see you nevermore. But the love, the pain, the hope, O beautiful one. Have made you mine till all my years are done." – Nightwish_

Bane had taught her many things during her time in India. And she never realized just how much until she would be in the midst of a dangerous situation. When she focused on one skill, Camille knew she could fight, knew she could be smart to handle the given task. She knew she could be as quiet as a shadow, and almost as strong as the one who'd trained her. She also knew she could kill to protect herself, and him.

But only in times like these, times when one wrong move could be the end of her, Camille knew she had to force herself to use all those skills at once.

It wasn't as late as she would have liked. With it being just a little past eleven at night, she had to stay out of the sights of the citizens who were still out. The cops were also on patrol, as they always were, keeping an open eye out for any suspicious character. But she had to make due, because she knew she only had so much time before she would be in very big trouble.

Seducing Bane and exhausting him to the point of a dead sleep had been part of the plan to get away. Now, she only hoped she had something useful to bring back with her to lighten the angry load she was in for.

With a small sheet of paper in her hand with a written address, she calmly walked along the sidewalk, nearing her destination in the Gotham cold.

She didn't think Bane understood why she was out now. And even though a mutual understanding had been what had bonded them since the very beginning, she didn't know if he ever would. Bane was so used to protecting what was his that he would lose sight of the very accomplishments that had been made along the way. Camille didn't want to be protected. She didn't want to be relatable to Talia al Ghul in the least. And she had worked very hard to earn the skills that would allow her to do something like this. Something like breaking into a mob boss's home so she could steal a vital piece of information.

If Bane didn't think she was capable, then she would just prove herself to him again. And to the ones who'd seen him tell her no, reducing her to something lower than themselves.

Camille knew that this risk would be worth it, even if she returned empty handed.

She hadn't brought much with her. The only thing she wanted holding her down was a small handgun and a cell phone for emergency purposes. And for her clothes she wanted maneuverability. As Bane slept off the loss of energy she'd taken from him, Camille had dressed in her high-waisted black skirt so she could move efficiently, and a tight black long-sleeved shirt. Her knee high combat boots covered her feet, and a skinny black holster was wrapped around her hips to hold the gun and the cell. With her leather jacket's collar turned up to hide most of her facial features from anyone who would pass her along the sidewalk in Gotham's East End, she walked slowly and calmly, scouting the area for anyone of interest and the house Zaid had given her the address to when she'd told him she would go get the disk he wanted.

She really hoped this disk existed. If not, Zaid would probably be in just as much trouble as she was. Maybe more.

Camille looked over when she arrived at the appropriate house. The modern structure stood tall and proud in the sea of other houses that made up the wealthy homes of Gotham. With a few lights burning inside to show others how well off he was, Camille glanced through a few of them and scanned the area of Tony Zucco's property. A few guards here and there, she saw, but nothing she couldn't handle. She was just lucky that Zucco had retired to his house in the East End, instead of the sky-high penthouse apartment he mostly used for entertaining. And for a brief moment, she wondered why he didn't have more security at home. Usually in every media clip or photo of him, Tony Zucco was covered with guards.

Maybe he didn't like such a big shadow in the comfort of his own home.

No dogs in the front yard, she noticed. And a wall with hardly any security. Judging by the bright lights in the bathroom where she could see a large fancy tub overflowing with fizzy water, she guessed that Zucco was going to lounge in the hot Jacuzzi for a relaxing night at home. She only had to get past the outside men, sneak in and avoid any house staff before finally meeting the man himself.

She could do that, because Bane had taught her well.

And just as she was about to begin the process, the small phone within her holster started to vibrate to life.

She looked down at the pocket and didn't know if she wanted to answer it. She knew exactly who would be on the other line, and felt that maybe it would be best if she ignored the call. The untraceable cell phone had been given to her for the times when she would go out by herself. Only a few people within the army had the number. And only one ever used it.

Reaching into the holster, Camille decided that she wasn't going to let him scare her, or make her nervous. Bane didn't control her, and she would let him know the hard way.

She wasn't different from the other men. Pressing the green button, Camille held on to her courage against him, and answered.

"Yes?"

"I shall give you approximately ten minutes to return to the base. If you fail to arrive back here in that amount of time, I will personally hunt you down and drag you back by your hair. And I will enjoy every second of it."

She didn't allow the anger in Bane's voice to faze her. "It took me thirty minutes to get here. That would be impossible."

"Then you'd better run quite fast. I am _not_ playing games with you, Camille. You've done enough toying with me tonight. Return to base immediately."

Camille leaned against a nearby wall, keeping herself in the darkest of the shadows. She heard the heavy hissing of his mask through the phone, could picture his face perfectly as he seethed on the other end of it. He didn't understand, she reminded herself. He wouldn't be able to see that this was important. "I'm not different," she said softly into the phone.

"You are _very_ different. I am not as furious with anyone else as I am with you at this moment. That makes you quite the outcast."

"I'm going to be fine. Just hang up."

"Camille," he said lowly, trying not to break the phone held in his fist as he paced. "Your ten minutes are declining rapidly. Abort the mission. Return to the base. Now."

But she'd already made a decision. She listened to the sound of his angry voice, and knew that there would be a purpose for it. Just as there had been a purpose for her training. And the purpose was this. This ability to be something better than what she had used to be. With a sigh, she decided that it was time to hang up. "Just pretend this is India," she told him, and disconnected.

Turning off the phone before he could call back or trace it quickly, she stuffed it back in the holster and looked towards the house again.

She wasn't different, she told herself, sneaking onto the lawn and remaining hidden. She wasn't like Talia.

Her skirt flapped silently in the wind as she scurried behind the bushes, peeking around the corner when she would hear a sound. But oddly, no one was around that she could see. Not even the two guards she'd seen walking out of the grand front door earlier. She quickly checked for cameras, saw a few but knew that she could easily get around them. What kind of security was this for home? she wondered, deciding to use the back entrance. Why did Zucco have former military for protection in the outside world but hardly anything for his own house? She reached the back entrance, kept waiting for any kind of alarm to go off so that she could know exactly what she was dealing with. But nothing happened.

And even stranger, the back door was open. Camille walked inside to the very well-kept and very masculine decorated home, and spotted the staircase in the corner of the kitchen.

She jumped when a trim Asian woman popped out of nowhere, and furiously started waving her hands at her.

"What are you doing?" she asked exasperatedly, huffing and puffing as she neared Camille, who could do nothing but stay still. "I told you not to use the back entrance. Always come to the front. It's more formal that way. Sneaking around like a burglar…"

Camille could have subdued her, but since the woman had grabbed her arm and began pulling her up the stairs, she decided to go along with it instead. The woman began brushing imaginary lint from her skirt, and smoothing down her curls as she pushed Camille up the carpeted steps. With care, Camille kept the pocket of the holster with the gun inside out of reach from her grabby hands as black blended in with more black.

"I told the agency he likes blondes." She sighed, eyed Camille's dark powdered eyes and purple plum lips with uncertainty. "But… you'll do, I suppose."

Camille was good at thinking quickly. So she played along. "What should I be doing exactly?"

"I don't know, don't ask me. I just tend to the house. You're wearing a lot more clothes than the last one, but I guess he's just going to rip them off of you anyway. Must be new," she muttered to herself, and pushed Camille right into the master bedroom before slamming the door shut.

Thinking quickly again, Camille wasted no time wondering about her good luck before scurrying off to hide. She listened carefully, heard a few noises from deep inside the bathroom as whoever it was finished using the toilet. She figured it was Zucco, and judging by his groaning, she possibly had a few minutes to search. She instantly went to his dresser, looked through all the stacks of mail and other papers, but no disk or anything else valuable. The door on the other side of the bedroom was open, showing a small office. She walked in, searched through drawers and files, through the cubby holes that housed a disgusting collection of porn DVD's. But she could find nothing like what Zaid had described to her before she'd left. And glancing at everything she'd gone through already, there was nothing that seemed important at all for someone who apparently ran the mob. The door to the separate room with the toilet creaked open. Camille decided that she would need some help to get what she wanted.

Inside the master bathroom, the running water from the tub shut off. The pitter patter of bare feet echoed within the tiled walls, followed by loud sniffing from the one inside it. After a few more moments, Tony Zucco entered his bedroom, his body wrapped in a white terrycloth robe. His wavy hair was still slicked back with gel from his earlier meetings, the lines in his disgruntled forehead deepening and reminding him that he needed to have his assistant schedule a Botox appointment. Soft streaks of gray were woven through his black hair, and his olive skin tone gleamed against the stark white of the robe. With beady dark eyes, he stared down at his wrist to take off the Rolex, and calmly placed it upon his vanity. He was of average build, showing off his scrawny legs from underneath the terrycloth.

From the shadows of his room, Camille was still confused. Something wasn't sitting right with her. But she would get the answers tonight after she was given what she needed for Bane.

Tony jumped and placed a hand on his heart when he spotted Camille slowly walking towards him, and let out a fast breath. "Jesus. Not so quiet, huh? You almost gave me a heart attack." His voice was deep, heavy with the city accent of Gotham and the mob. Looking her up and down, he shook his head when he noticed her hair. "Not a blonde. But what are you gonna do? Alright, sweetheart, what's your name? Starr? Arielle?" When Camille remained quiet, he looked at her face closely, squinting some. "Hmm… Do I know you? You look very familiar."

All color drained from his face when Camille pulled out her gun, and aimed it right at his head. He instantly lifted his hands, thought about yelling out for someone to hear and call for protection. But he'd told everyone to leave him alone for the next few hours because he would have lady company. And they always listened.

It was just his luck.

"Shit," he sighed, and took a step back. He looked her over some, shook his head like he'd made some stupid mistake. "You're with him, aren't you? You're one of those mercenaries that have been following me around."

Camille kept her face and her voice firm, her arm never wavering. "Bane needs your disk. It would be wise of you to hand it over without any complications."

Zucco stared at her face some more, lifted a brow and spoke like he hadn't heard her order. "Are you sure I don't know you?"

"Give me the disk now." Camille grabbed him by the scruff his robe, kicked the back of his knee to send him down as the gun never moved an inch. She bumped the barrel against his temple, told him it would be a good idea to keep his hands up. "You have fifteen seconds to tell me where it is."

And surprisingly, Zucco let out a wheezing laugh. "You're not gonna shoot me. Look at you, Miss America. I wouldn't be surprised if you were carrying makeup in that skinny holster of yours."

Camille glared down at him, grabbed him by his hair and yanked back. "Then say goodbye."

Zucco screamed and jumped back as Camille shot at the floor right between his legs. A few dogs in the distance began to bark, and the woman from down below began to wail. But Camille didn't care. She had a job to do, and she would stick to it. After Zucco stopped screaming, she backhanded him with her gun, sending him to the floor and stepping over his torso. She looked down at him calmly, knowing she only had so much time before the housekeeper would send for the police.

"Give me the disk and I might not shoot out one of your kneecaps. Right now."

"You're insane, lady! You almost shot me in the balls." He instantly shut his mouth when she put the barrel on one of his knees, her finger on the trigger.

"Your information or your ability to walk. Choose one now, or I'll kill you as soon as someone walks through that door. I'm not leaving without it."

"I don't have any fucking disk! What the hell are you getting at?"

"We have one of your guys talking about a disk with all your information on it. Apparently he isn't so good at keeping his mouth shut when strippers are involved. Bane needs it to keep track of the mob."

Zucco stared at her as he thought, rolled his eyes when recognition took. "Goddamn Frankie. Okay, okay," he yelled, holding up his hands in surrender when she placed the gun on his forehead. "For cryin' out… Look, I don't have something like that. Why would I?"

"You run the Italians, don't you? Lie to me again. Do it."

"Stop! Jesus… I wouldn't have that information. The boss carries stuff like that."

Camille drew her brows together, tightened her grip on his hair. She stared at him, and felt even more confused. She stared at him, and then realized why he wasn't as protected as he was in the eyes of the city. "The boss," she repeated.

"Yes," Zucco said with a nod, not sure if he should look at the gun, or this crazy woman's face he still couldn't place. "The boss. Please let me go. I need to get out of here. If they found out…"

Camille thought hard as she watched him. Only the boss would have that kind of information, he'd said. And that had been the truth, coming from the one who supposedly was the man who ran them all. It had never sat well with her that someone like him, a former lackey of Salvatore Maroni, could have worked his way up to the top in just a year. But Zucco didn't have the leverage they'd been trying to take. She looked at his face, and saw him as just that.

The face of the mob. And nothing more.

He wasn't the one they needed to worry about. All this time, and they were just chasing a decoy. Another form of protection. It had been the reason they could never pin him down, never get him within their grasps so they could use him. Zucco had been given the place as the head to cover for the one who truly was.

And they didn't know who that was. That knowledge possibly put them one step behind.

Bane had told them this. He'd told them someone was protecting Tony Zucco. And now they needed to find out who had ordered it.

"Who protects you, Mr. Zucco?" she asked softly.

He shook his head. "If I tell you, I'm dead. I can cover my tracks with this, but if I give you a name, I'm done for."

Camille gave him a few seconds before she smiled down at him. "That's fine. I'll just return with Bane. Would you like that?"

Zucco's eyes widened, and she could have sworn she saw a few tears spring up at the corners.

But she had no time to press the issue before the door was kicked open, and one of the men she'd seen earlier from outside came in with a loaded pistol.

Camille ducked to the side of the bed to avoid the pops of bullets, quickly crawled underneath as the man made his way around it when she refused to fire. Zucco was yelling her position at the man, pointing and hollering when he hadn't yet apprehended her. On the floor, she pointed and aimed, shooting her attacker right in the foot. The man howled, distracting him enough for her to pop up and send another bullet right in his chest. The man then fell to his knees, Zucco screaming as he went down. But she misjudged his remaining strength.

And pivoted out of the way just in time before the man squeezed the trigger again, hoping to send his last bullet exactly where she'd shot him. It missed her chest.

Camille shrieked when an exploding fire erupted against her side, blood already seeping out of the graze the bullet had given her. With a gasp, she clutched her side at her ribs, tried to ignore the shouting of Zucco and the woman from downstairs. She had to get out of here. She had to block the pain and escape.

Zucco tried to run past her. In her fury because the pain was steadily becoming more intense, she grabbed him, yanked him close. Her arm reeled back as her fist connected right with his eye, then another to his lips as he sunk to the floor.

And before anyone else could show up, she ran out of the house and straight for the shadows. She had to tell Bane what she'd found out. The pain in her side was nothing compared to just that. She'd thought for a second that they were now a step behind. But that wasn't true. She knew what no one else knew. And she had to get straight back home to relay the news.

Remembering Bane's voice on the phone, it almost seemed scarier than taking on the mob.

* * *

Camille tried not to draw attention to herself as she made the trip back to the factory. Thankful that she'd dressed all in black so that the blood would be hidden, the side of her shirt and jacket were mildly soaked with it, seeping out of the rip in the fabric against her side. She kept her arm down when she decided to take one of the late night public buses to avoid walking, knowing that it was too late for someone to recognize her if she happened to be near anyone. And after a while, she finally reached the factory, heading instantly for Zaid as soon as she spotted him. Barsad and a few others were lounging nearby, playing cards and drinking a few beers as they enjoyed the precious few hours in the night they would have with nothing much to do. She felt Barsad's eyes on her as she walked over to Zaid, and hoped that he couldn't see her injury.

He was the last person she wanted to deal with right now.

Zaid raised his brows and removed a big pair of earphones from his head as he turned away from the monitors to look at her. "What the hell happened to you? Are you bleeding?"

She waved him off. "I'm fine. But I have to tell you."

Zaid took a happy step closer, his hands already out to take what she'd gone for. "Did you get it? Please tell me you found it."

"No. Listen to me. There is a disk, but Zucco doesn't have it. He wouldn't. He doesn't have anything important."

Barsad idly flipped open a switchblade as he listened. "Are you sure you were at the right house?"

Camille ignored him, tried not to touch her side again. "He wouldn't have anything like that because he doesn't lead them. Zucco is nothing but a face. A cover."

"What do you mean?" Zaid asked with a shake of his head. "How did you find that out?"

"He told me. And he has nothing. He barely has any security at home. Zucco is just a decoy for the real head of the mob. Whoever is really running the show is being kept out of the eyes of the media and the police because of that distraction."

Zaid stared at her as he let all of it sink in, then sighed and ran his hands over his frizzy hair. "Wonderful. You know I have absolutely no way of finding out who that is, right? I wouldn't even know where to begin."

"Begin with Zucco," she told him. "He knows. You'll get it out of him."

Zaid nodded, turned to his computer. And after a second or two, he looked back to her, eyeballing her up and down. "Are you sure you're okay?"

Barsad spoke from the table before she could tell him she was fine again. "She is bleeding, from a bullet wound against her ribs. I can smell the blood from here." He turned to them, smirked at Zaid. "And Bane did not know she had left. Now she is injured. Again."

Zaid paled and felt like he would collapse. Camille hadn't told him that Bane didn't know where she'd gone. And she'd gone to go retrieve something he had wanted. Although she'd returned with useful information, she'd also returned with an injury.

And injury on a mission Bane had been kept out of all along.

To stay alive, Zaid would through Camille under the bus to avoid Bane's fury.

Camille was just about to tell Barsad that she could leave whenever she wanted to leave. But as soon as a few of the men turned away and pretended to be doing something useful, along with Zaid, she looked up and was greeted with Bane's icy stare. He stood a few feet away, his arms crossed over his bare chest, looking at her without making a sound. She hadn't thought so far ahead as to what she was going to tell him concerning her injury. But watching him now, no words would come to mind.

Camille could take care of herself, Bane repeated in his head, reminding himself of his thoughts when it came to the subject. He hadn't needed to worry, because she was strong. He didn't need to keep her locked up because she was very capable. But as he stared at her now, anger sizzling on his skin like a burn, he was only reminded of her conniving ploy to get him out of the way so she could leave to do something he'd forbidden her the day before. She'd used fancy clothes and forms of seduction to distract him from her planned departure. She'd hung up on him when he had told her to return.

And now she was hurt. Camille was hurt because she had been so pathetically _stupid_.

The entire room went silent, until the only sound was the loud stomp of his boots as he slowly neared her. Calmly, Bane reached out when he was close enough, and grabbed a handful of her shirt between her breasts. Everyone, including Camille, knew that it was best to stay quiet. So she went with him as he pulled her along by her shirt, wincing once he slammed the door of the apartment shut behind them.

Barsad continued to smirk as he played with the knife. Maybe now, that woman would finally be thrown out. Disobedience such as that was not tolerated in the least. Other men had been killed for less.

He trusted Bane to make the right decision.

* * *

"Ow! You're making it _worse_."

Sitting in the chair he had sat in when she'd seduced him just a couple hours earlier, Camille glared at him, wearing only her bra on her upper body so that Bane could tend to her wound. After wiping away all the dried blood, he saw that it was a mild flesh wound from a bullet right against her ribs on her side. It could have been worse, he concluded, as he cleaned out the dirt and tiny pieces of her shirt from the graze. If she hadn't moved during the split second she had, the bullet would have went right through her lung. He reached in a little further with an iodine wipe for infection, and made her tighten her grip on his shoulder so he could get to the wound properly.

"You're hurting me on purpose," she muttered angrily. "_Ow!_ What the hell are you doing to me?"

"Cleaning a very unnecessary injury. Be still, for the last time."

Camille lifted her elbow a little higher. Her arm had gotten tired when she'd simply held it in the air for him while he tended to her flesh. Now, she gripped his shoulder against the sting. "It's only two inches long. How can it hurt so much?"

"You have never been shot before. And you would have remained so had you listened to my orders."

"I told you I wasn't different." Camille growled at him when he pressed harder in the wound to silence her, and nudged her onto the desk to hold her down so he could finish. "You're being mean," she murmured as her cheek was forced onto the surface of the desk.

"Thank you, darling. Now _hush_."

She remained quiet as he continued to clean and disinfect her. She was thankful she didn't need stiches, knew that it would be torture if Bane, in his angry state, had to sew her up. She waited until he slapped a small bandage over her wound before she straightened her body, and looked up at him with her own glare. "Stop being mean to me."

"I'm being mean," he repeated slowly, his green eyes blazing. "You tell me I am being mean to you, yet you disobey me. You_ ignored_ my orders and left to try your hand at a mission that was much too dangerous for you to do alone. And then you return to me now… _shot_ and wondering why I'm treating you this way. I believe you deserve this, Camille."

"I told you I could do it. And I did. I came back with valuable information, and you don't even care."

"That does not change the facts."

"Then which one is it, because you're confusing the hell out of me. Are you so angry because I got hurt, or because I disobeyed you?"

Which one was it? Bane asked himself. If Camille could take care of herself, then why was her injury causing even more stress inside him? And if Camille had not disobeyed him, she wouldn't have been hurt in the first place. Conflicting feelings were not something he cared to deal with. He didn't want to think about Camille doing whatever she wanted. He knew what was best for her, he was her leader. He'd _created_ her. And he also didn't want to think about something worse happening to her, because he didn't know if he could handle a second death.

_Why was he so upset?_

Camille could take care of herself, he thought for the thousandth time. And yet he just didn't want her to do certain things. Camille's feisty way with him had always attracted him, yet he wanted her to be obedient. Camille taking initiative should have been a good thing, yet the simple ignorance of his orders set his blood to boiling. He'd let her go to face India alone, yet Gotham felt strangely different now that they were here.

Too many conflictions. And so much anger because of them.

"Go ahead, be angry with me. I don't care." Camille stood, pulled her skirt so that it would flow properly to the floor, not giving any thought to still being without a shirt. She stared up at him with a fiery gaze, deciding to take him on just as she'd done in the past. "I don't know what you think, but you can't control me. I'm _not_ different. I chose this life for you, but that doesn't give you the right to direct my every move. And don't think I can't tell how hard you've been trying to do just that. You don't _own_ me."

He didn't think he could get more furious. But he was slowly proving himself wrong. "Of course I own you, Camille. Everything about you belongs to me. I _made_ you."

"Well then you created a monster. I don't need a _master_. I can do whatever I want. You have no leash on me."

"You think I can't control you?" he asked lowly, his hands fisting at his sides and his mask hissing angrily. "I am superior to you, Camille, in every way. I control this army, which you are a part of. I am the dominant half in this relationship. You have agreed and submitted to both of those things for quite some time now. So _don't_ assume you can do as you please so carelessly. I _can_ control you. And I will continue to do so until the day you die."

They stood there and glared at each other, each unwilling to back down. Camille couldn't believe what he was saying to her. All this time she thought they were equal, and Bane had the crazy notion of thinking of himself as her ruler ever since she said yes to him in India so long ago. He may lead the army, but he was not God. He may be the male in their relationship, but he did not direct her path as much as he thought he did. She thought back to when they first met, felt some irony in that thought as she remembered the days of the past when it had been _her_ orders as his doctor that had got him through the days at the asylum. The roles may have reversed a little, but she would not be a slave to him. Not like how he had been to Talia.

"I controlled you first," she muttered at him, taking a step closer to make her point. "Don't forget that."

His anger rose to its peak as she turned to walk away from him. When they fought she was always walking away, or looking away in a dismissing manner. And just like every other time, he couldn't stand it. Bane snapped his arm and grabbed hers above her elbow. "I _hate_ it when you walk away from me, Camille."

She lifted her fisted hand, flexing the arm he held defensively. "Are you going to yell at me some more?" she asked threateningly, simply done with speaking to him and only wishing him turmoil at this point. "Or are you going to hit me again?"

He took a slow, furious breath as his eyes widened, instantly recounting the time he had smacked her in his rage. How dare she use that against him now, purposely wanting to cause him more regret. How dare she say any of these things to him, after all he'd done for her. She was here because he'd transformed her. She was alive because he kept her that way. She was his lover, because for some _insane_ reason, he wanted this infuriating woman. How dare she…

Camille felt her face heat as her fury consumed her. She used all of her strength to try and yank her arm free. And when her arm never budged from his grip, it angered her even more. When he spoke next, his voice suddenly so grating because she was so _finished_ with him, she felt herself cracking.

"Would you like me to?" he asked lowly, and pulled her close.

"Cut it out. I don't want to be near you, so _back the hell off_ and _quit_ touching me." She used her other arm to push at his chest, her hand slapping against his skin as she yanked a second time, his grip finally releasing her. She walked away again, her combat boots smacking angrily on the floor. But he stomped behind her, refusing to let her dismiss him.

"You certainly deserve punishment," he continued, staring daggers at the back of her curly head. Wanting to hurt her the way she was trying to hurt him with past memories. "Using sex to get what you want. How dare you try and seduce me only to disobey my orders. There is a name for women like that, Camille. But Gotham already calls you by that name, don't they?"

She stopped suddenly, visibly shaking in rage.

Then spun around and punched him right in his face.

A loud _clunk_ was heard once her knuckles connected with the mask. And after that, time seemed to stand still for what felt like eons. Bane calmly looked back at her, at her set mouth, her angry black eyes, and felt simple astonishment. Camille had just hit him. Camille, his maternal, caring Camille had raised a hand to him. And he quite simply didn't know what to think.

But he knew what he felt. And he hated it.

In a spilt second his hand was around her throat, clenching slightly so that she couldn't run away or fight him off. If Camille wanted to harm him, then he would play her silly games. He began backing her across the room, taking long strides with his long legs that would cause her to stumble until he reached a wall. And when her back finally hit one, he held her against it, and let her know just who was more powerful.

Camille stared at him the whole time, her eyes widening as he moved her. And as she looked, as she felt her knuckles begin to throb from the blow to his mask, she realized that she'd possibly made a mistake. The knowledge pierced her like lightning, the knowledge that she had struck Bane, just as he had once struck her. She wasn't like that, she told herself, reminded herself. How could she hit him? How could she be like that? She took care of him. And even though her punch had absolutely no physical effect on him, she could tell that emotionally she had caused him… an odd kind of pain. But he shouldn't have said those things to her. He shouldn't have made her feel inadequate in a world she possibly had no place in, no matter what she did or how hard she trained. He couldn't see her as a soldier because he could only remember the last woman he was not able to save, or protect. And here he was now, squeezing her neck just slightly to tell her that he could squeeze a whole lot harder if he wanted to. Telling her, I'm choosing not to snap your neck, and I want you to know that. Intimidating her again.

They couldn't work this way. Never like this.

She gave him a defiant frown, so confused because she didn't want him to think he _could_ intimidate her, and also feeling a slight shame that she had hit him. "You don't scare me," she whispered to him, her voice hitching some because of that confusion. "You haven't for a long time."

Bane brought his face close to hers, stared hard into her eyes. And even through all his anger, all his disappointment in her for disobeying him, he couldn't help but feel a twisted… pride in her, as well. She had behaved stupidly, in so many ways tonight. But she was once again standing up to him, once again showing him that strength that had called to him as her mate. Camille could take care of herself. Staring at her now, he knew it to be true. But he was still stressed, still hating that stress because he couldn't understand it. India had been different, he admitted. Maybe India had been different because India was not Gotham.

The city where his last love had died.

_It couldn't happen again. _

He had to cover those feelings right now. He had to punish her for disobeying him, just as he would any of his other soldiers. Camille knew of punishment from him, and would receive it now just the same.

"Right before you committed yourself to me, you stated that what goes for me goes for you as well. Perhaps you made a bad choice in mentioning that." His voice was low, almost like the growl of a predator who had just found his prey. But Camille wouldn't bow down to him. She would take his fury just as she'd always taken his strength. "If you can use sex to steer me in the direction of your choosing, then I shall do the same to you. What goes for you," he continued deeply, repeating her own words and feeling the beat of her pulse underneath his fingers. "Goes for me, too."

And with his hand still around her neck, Bane hiked up Camille's skirt, ripped the panties underneath to shreds. He didn't care if she wasn't ready, knew that he could make her so in no time at all. Images of the very first time they'd had sex came to his mind, images of him taking her against the wall to rid the hands of another man from her body, and replacing them with his own. He had claimed her then, and he would do so again right now. Remembering that time caused him to become half hard in his pants as he unfastened them, as he released his growing erection so that he could punish her. She still looked at him defiantly as he picked her up, hooking his arms underneath her knees so that she would spread beautifully for him. And with one hard, full thrust, he buried himself in her body.

Camille tried to hold back a whimper as he instantly began to pump. It hurt a little now, but she wouldn't tell him that. She would stay strong and let him do what he wanted to her if that would make him feel better. But he wouldn't control her in any other way. Not anymore.

She could fight this.

Her skirt fell behind her as he pressed his body against hers, not caring that she'd been shot at tonight because all he could suddenly feel was the grip. Bane didn't thrust into her steadily. Instead, he gave her hard snaps of his hips, one at a time slowly. He wanted to make himself completely hard, but knew that he had to hear her admit her mistakes before he could fully sink into her the way he always did when he would be inside her.

The way he would lose himself in her every time she touched him.

"Your decision to leave was a poor one, Camille," he rasped against her neck, snapping into her twice before he spoke again. "You should have listened to me. You _need_ to listen to me. Say it."

She didn't want to tell him, but she could feel her lower stomach begin to flip, and the pain to ease away. She could feel the heat taking over her lower body, but she had to stand her ground. Shouldn't she stand her ground? Why was she feeling fuzzy? She shook her head, simultaneously pushing back the haze in her brain and telling him no.

Bane growled against her at her refusal. So he pulled her knees up higher, tilted her pelvis with his, and slammed his cock inside her. He made her whole backside bang against the wall, the back of her head and spine hitting it, forcing her to submit to him. Forcing her to become wet. The hard, threatening muscles of his bare chest flexed against her, reminding her of who he was, and what he could do so easily.

And when she couldn't take it any longer, when the heat built and spread and took her over, she nodded at him, clutched his shoulders. "I'm sorry," she whispered, and knew that it was for everything. She shouldn't have hit him. She shouldn't have gotten angry. He may not get to control her every move, but he was her leader. He _did_ know what was best. She'd chosen him before anyone else in the world, and would never make a different choice. She became wet for him then, so wet because he suddenly smelled so good, so _male_, calling to her female desperately. Her mate was taking her and she was happy to comply. She wanted him. She wanted everything from him.

Bane instantly felt the change in her, and grew completely hard inside her. He could please his darling Camille now. The smell of her skin, her hair, her arousal, made his eyes cloud with desire. He ripped off his back brace, groaned against her as he started pushing into her some more because he needed to feel it, needed to feel the very wet core of her. He was dominant and he would have her the way he wanted to have her.

He would take what was his, in any way he chose.

Bane hoisted her up some, having her jump in his arms as he situated one underneath her. She moaned from the manhandling, pulled herself against him tightly so that the lace of her bra would rub against his chest. Bane slammed her into the wall some more, the sound vibrating in the apartment through the walls and even the floor. He didn't care if the others could hear, had never cared about such trivialities when he would take his woman. Let them hear, he thought, and pulled her away from the wall. Let them know.

Camille gasped and panted as she was thrown onto the bed on her stomach, growled a little when he lifted her onto her hands and knees and brushed her skirt away harshly, already feeling the hot, hard press of him against her backside. Bane stood on his knees behind her, grabbed her hips and slid back inside the wet grip with as much strength as before. Camille panted loudly then as he pulled her by her hips back onto his cock, slamming her against him with all the force he could muster. He felt his mind begin to leave him then, all rationale sailing away from the intensity of emotion, feeling, and desire. He could only think of her, could only try to force her to understand him when it came to certain things. He grabbed her hair then, fisted it and held on as he lost himself.

"You can't leave me, Camille. You must _listen_ to me _always_. Listen to me," he repeated desperately, pulling her up by her hair and having her grasp the headboard so that he could feel more of her body as he thrust into her. "I have to keep you safe… You must take care of what is _mine_."

His voice sounded so different, she thought, wishing she could see him, wishing she could hold him. His voice was husky as always when they would have sex, but something was a little different now. Something that sounded like promise, lust, and violence all rolled into one. He had never spoken to her this way before, this way that told her he was worried about something, and he could never tell her what when he was rational. Camille got it then as she moaned for him some more, clenching around him and taking everything he had for her. Bane wanted to save her. But she couldn't be saved, because she lived in the same darkness as he did.

And she always would.

"Bane," she whispered, panting.

"I will _not_ go through that again," he growled, ignoring her and only continuing to pump into her, burying his face in her hair for her scent as he rocked her body. "I will _not_ have someone tell me… if something happens…" He shook his head, found that he couldn't clear it. "I will punish you more extremely if you disobey me again… You will _listen_ to me, Camille. So I can keep you…"

She was almost done. She could feel the pressure rising, rising still. She squeezed her eyes shut, felt Bane's pounding hips behind her, the slap of his thighs against hers, his rushed breath against her body. "You have me," she panted breathlessly, and came undone.

Bane groaned deeply against her as she finished around him, fucked her through both of their orgasms as she cried out from the force. He shuddered behind her, breathing heavily too much of his medicine and feeling somewhat lightheaded because of it. But after a while he calmed down. After a while, Camille lowered herself back onto her hands and knees as she did the same.

She felt a slight ache between her legs now that all heightened sensation was calming down, knew that it was from him entering her before she was properly ready. But she had been through worse pain with him before when it came to that, and she could handle it now. Looking back at him, her chest clenched. How could she hurt him? How could she be the one to make him this way?

"Bane," she whispered again, reaching back even while he was still inside her, and caressed his masked cheek. She ran her thumb over his cheekbone, waited until his hazy eyes met hers. "You don't need to protect me," she murmured to him, feeling the beat of his pounding heart even where they were joined. "Let me protect you."

Impossible, he thought, moving his hands down to rest on her hips again. It was simply impossible. His mind was slowly returning to him, his anger and his lust fizzing out to nothing. Suddenly he remembered everything he'd said to her, everything that had led up to this. Whatever this had turned into. Slowly he pulled out of her, causing her to wince, his claim to her staining her thighs. And with a care he rarely showed her, he maneuvered her onto her back and hovered over her. Her cheeks were flushed, he saw, and her hair a tangled mess, just as it always was. Her lips pouted up at him now as they stared at each other, the pout she always made after sex. And because he still wanted her to know the truth of their lives, he possessively straddled her, resting his forearms on either side of her shoulders as his legs did the same with hers.

_You are mine. _

He wanted to tell her that. But he could only remember the other things he'd said again.

The way he was looking at her, Camille knew what he was trying to communicate to her. She knew him better than anyone, and also knew that one verbal apology was most likely all she would ever get in her lifetime. But she didn't mind, because that was who he was. And she accepted him completely. Reaching up, she ran her fingertips along his neck, and forgave him.

"Let me save you," she whispered to him, telling him again what she wanted for him. What she would live for because he… meant so much.

Bane's eyelids lowered a little from her touch that was now along his face, just her fingertips that could soothe him. Impossible, he thought again, and shook his head slightly. No one could save him. The world, and a little girl, had corrupted him a long time ago. "You can't," he murmured back.

"I can." Her fingertips were now running down the scar along his spine. "I will."

Bane didn't know what to say to that. So he didn't say anything at all, because no one else ever told him these things. Except for this woman. This woman who wanted to protect him.

_I am yours. _

Bane reached for her hand, the hand she'd hit his mask with, and lifted it to inspect. Her knuckles were slightly red, little cuts here and there from the tubing. He placed her knuckles along the mouthpiece of his mask, almost like he were giving her a kiss to make it feel better, and watched her face as she smiled.

A smile that made him feel like he'd been hit again.

He buried his face in her chest, and allowed her to soothe him further. He knew he couldn't lock her up to keep her safe because she _was _a part of the army. And she knew that he really did know what was best when it came to decisions. It would be hard to compromise. It was already hard to be completely honest. But they were strong. For each other, they would be strong.

_Always_.

* * *

It was late, and no one was settling down for the night. Zaid and a few of the other technical mercenaries were busy trying to track down a mystery, and others were on patrol now that the enemy had made contact once again. The Joker, after he'd spotted one of Bane's men out in the city, had happily told him that he would spare his life only if he agreed to bring something back with him. That something had been a small video disk, some footage that the clown wanted to send to the army. Or more specifically, to Camille.

After Bane had rolled off of her, she became fully aware of her small flesh wound, wincing some at the sting. When she'd looked down at the bandage, blood speckled the white cloth only slightly. Without any anger from either of them this time, he's redressed her wound, causing her to handle it a lot better now that he wasn't bandaging her harshly. After that was done, she swallowed down a pain pill he'd brought for her, and pulled on a black sweater before she left the apartment as Bane got in the shower.

The man who'd been given the disk in exchange for his delivery services approached her, and handed it off.

Now, Camille scowled at a nearby monitor, alone, because she didn't want anyone else reporting this to Bane. This was a shot at her, and she would keep him out of it to ease his stress. With her arms crossed, she watched again what the clowns had sent her.

"Hiya, sweet face!" Harley Quinn chirped, giggling at the camera with her painted face as she adjusted it some. "Puddin', I don't know how to work this damn thing. Am I in frame?" she asked the camera, or stupidly asking Camille herself. "Yeah, I'm in frame. Anyway, how's the knee? Mr. J says we need to catch up. Isn't that a good idea? She thinks it's a good idea," she called behind her, her yellow pigtails bouncing around her tight leather of red and black.

Camille watched as the two spoke with each other, trying to glance behind them to see where they had videoed from. But nothing seemed familiar. An empty space that was insignificant. And when the Joker came in frame, she winced back just slightly. Dressed in his usual purple attire, he sat casually in a chair, his feet propped upon the table as he carelessly wiped off a bloody knife.

"Good news, girlie," Harley continued, walking closer to him and sitting her small frame down onto his lap. "We've decided to strike up a deal. As you can probably tell, Gotham's been disappearing. We have big plans, and those pesky buildings just get in the way." Her voice cut off once the Joker's gloved hand covered her mouth. And it didn't look very comfortable or playful.

"Now that that's over…" he drawled, then smiled at the camera for Camille, that deadly smile. "Look, honey, we all know the… influence you can have on the big guy. And if you don't, well then… maybe he's not as smart as they say he is." He showed all his yellow teeth as he giggled, wheezing a little. "But I've decided to give you guys a break. You get Bane out of my city, and I'll leave you alone. He hasn't been making things very… fun. And between you and me, he seems a little _boring. _I thought he would be a riot to play with at first. But it's just not the same if both of us are out for the same thing. He might even be a tad _uptight_." When Harley tried to move her head to comment, he snapped her neck back as she squirmed in his lap. "Daddy's talking, pumpkin pie. Anywho, I don't want to find that Bane is still here, and still causing _trouble_, because then I'm afraid our little games will have to come to an end. If you want your gigantic lover to remain in one piece, then I suggest you scurry your little butt's outta here. If not… then you'll just have front row seats to the fireworks. Choose wisely, honey!"

He released the hand around Harley's mouth, smirked some as she instantly wrapped her arms around his neck and began kissing his cheek repeatedly. Camille scowled some more, and thought maybe she should feel sorry for her former colleague that had been twisted so very easily. Harley's next words, however, squashed that small pity.

"You see this?" she asked Camille through the camera, patting the Joker's cheek lightly. "This is a man in love. Isn't that right, puddin'?"

"Abso_lutely_ right," he growled, and yanked on her pigtails, hard, giggling at her wince. Harley scurried off his lap, walked closer to the camera until her haunting face was the only thing Camille could see.

"It's funny how Bane doesn't look that way at all, huh?" She smirked, and for a woman so lost in the mind, she knew exactly the kind of effect it would have. She gave a careless shrug, shook her head pityingly. "Oh well."

The screen went black, but Camille could still see that laughing face.

The clowns were stupid if they thought they could scare them off. As anger rose within her, she knew that they _had_ to stay here now, if only to kill those smiling painted faces. Both of them and their band of insane henchmen were nothing compared to an army. And Camille would help Bane as much as she could to get rid of them. Their words meant nothing.

And just like the last two encounters she'd had with Harley, the _other_ words, the words she didn't want to think about, caused her to feel unsteady.

Camille knew she shouldn't question things. She also knew that certain things couldn't be brought up because of who they were. Another thing she knew was that Harley Quinn was as crazy as the inmates both of them used to treat in the past. So then why did she get to her? Why did she feel… like she had to know?

She hated Harley for making her feel this way. She hated her so much, because before she'd never been bothered by the mystery of Bane's exact feelings towards her. Harley Quinn was in an intense, _abusive_ relationship with a mass-murdering psychotic clown. Surely she shouldn't compare herself to her.

Camille took the disk, destroyed it. Then went in search of Bane, because suddenly she had to be near him. And when she didn't find him in the apartment, when she couldn't find him all throughout the factory, she was regrettably unsuccessful in fighting off the curiosity that was causing her stomach to ache.

_Fucking clowns. _

* * *

She found him on the roof, up the flight of stairs that gave access to it. The night sky always gave Bane comfort, especially the very late night sky, when everything else seemed dead to the world. Camille wrapped her arms around herself from the cold, spotted him in the middle of the wide roof lying on his back. He'd only thrown on a t-shirt and pants after the shower, knowing that he could last in the cold much longer than the average man due to his immense body heat. And because she still needed to be near him, she padded over to him, and went to her back beside him to look up at the sky, too.

Bane glanced at her out of the corner of his eye as she lowered to the concrete roof. And, lying next to each other, they watched the night clouds travel and the stars blink.

There were hardly any stars in Gotham. India had given them a glorious night sky, full of bright stars and an even brighter moon. Gotham's sky almost looked phased out, almost too weary to function because of the happenings here. But it still did its purpose for Bane, even without the shooting stars. Breathing in the night air cleared his lungs, and watching the black space gave him peace.

And what he felt from the night sky was the same as how he felt from the woman lying next to him.

Camille put her arms at her sides, just as Bane was doing with his own, and rubbed her lips together. Harley Quinn had done a terrible thing to her. Things were fine when other things weren't being brought up. But she couldn't let it go. Maybe, if she got an answer, she finally could. Camille looked over at him, found him still staring at the sky with those lovely green eyes she adored. Swallowing a little, she forced the words out.

She wanted to let it go.

"Do you love me?" she finally asked him, and decided to feel strong in her question.

His mask wheezed as he blinked. Slowly, Bane turned his head to look at her, met her gaze with her eyes as black as the sky above them. Hitting him earlier was not as surprising as this. He stared at her, at the one who had become the sky to him, and countered her question. "Do _you_ love _me_?"

It was a game that had gone on since they first started sleeping together. But Camille couldn't be mad at it, because it somehow worked for them. For the longest time they simply stared at each other, each waiting for an answer, each wondering if it would be the truth. That word wasn't for them. That word had almost been the death of them in the past. She didn't want to die again. She wanted to be with him forever.

"No," she murmured, holding his gaze. And feeling that pull, that bond that would tie them together, tighten. "Do you love me?" she asked again.

Bane seemed to relax then, taking a deep breath, the air crackling out through the grate of the mask. He knew Camille, his darling Camille, just as she knew him. He smiled softly under the mask, so softly that he was pretty sure she couldn't tell, and answered her. "No."

They looked away then, back to the sky, back to the thing that could make them feel so small. Camille felt herself relaxing as well, and knew that these silly games with Harley could finally end. At her side, she felt Bane's fingers brush hers, opened her hand so that she could take his. She laced their fingers together, and felt the peace. The peace that had evaded them for so long. They didn't lie to each other often…

But they could always tell when they were.

**TBC**

**A/N: Are Bane and Camille lying? I think we all know the answer to that. I forgot to mention in the last chapter that I gave Barsad an almost different aspect of the Batman villain Deadshot's origin. I read that that was who he was somewhat based off of, and worked with it. Thank you so much for the reviews, my darlings. And I hope a lot of you are out of school, and enjoying the summer. We all have to put on our Superman shirts soon, don't we? **


	15. Lost Northern Star

_**Amaranthine**_

**Chapter 15**

**Lost Northern Star**

_"Lost northern star, buried in sorrow. I'll guard your mind. Let demons howl outside." – Tarja Turunen_

Gotham's day of reckoning. Why wouldn't that day leave him alone? Why was it etched in his memory like a disease that he could never cure? How many times would he have to die, and be reborn into a different life?

That was how that day felt to Bane now. A day similar to the one when Talia had climbed away from him, and he had endured the consequences of harboring a female in a lustful prison of men. He'd died that day, and had been given a different one that had come with power, skills, and a handicap he would always live with. Gotham had survived its fire, but it had taken him just the same. The day he had been shot by the cannon of the Batman, the day Talia had died, had killed him then too.

The new life he'd been given had been similar to the second one. Only this time, it had come with a different woman. A woman he could never escape because she could never leave him. A woman he had tied himself to. A woman… who was just like him.

_How many times would he have to relive death?_

Gotham's day of reckoning had changed everything, but it should have been the past. Bane knew the world of his dreams could bring him places he wished he'd never have to revisit. But this day… It was here again. Bane found himself dressed in the same clothes he'd fought the Batman in, found himself in the same place where he should have been left for dead. City Hall was gloomy, just as it had been on the actual day, and very cold. Only this time, there was no war raging right outside on the streets. There was no Batman, no men, no police. Only himself…

And the child. The child who was haunting him. The girl who wouldn't go away.

His own, personal torture.

Little Talia, dressed in her rags, circled him like a shark on the floor of City Hall, the very spot where the Catwoman had shot him down. He remained sitting on his knees, staring at the floor because he couldn't look at her. Because he couldn't look at that sweet face and fall apart. He wanted her to leave, but she would never leave him. And here, in dreams, there was no rope to pull him from the pit.

His rope was fast asleep next to him in reality.

"This is the very last place you saw me."

Her voice, so soft and small, felt like a dagger to the heart. Keeping his eyes on the floor, Bane tried to ignore the pitter patter of her bare feet as she circled him. "Not you," he replied quietly, feeling the mask growing tighter on his face. "Who you grew into. You and the woman are separate."

She giggled, and it seemed to echo, making him shudder. "You like to think so. But you are wrong, my friend. We are the same. The child and the woman you loved are the very same person. And that is what you cannot accept."

"The past means nothing," he murmured, remembering Talia's own words the first night she came to his bed in the League. "You told me that. The past means nothing."

"What if I had been lying? What if I only said that because I wanted you?" She came to stand behind him, and put her tiny hands along his strong shoulders. He felt like he should flinch, felt like he should get away while he had the chance. But her touch seared into his skin, kept him still. And listening to words that were steadily changing everything. "Your guilt is so heavy that it causes you to sink. You make yourself a fool for trying to believe that one person is actually two. You lie to _yourself_," she whispered to him, and brought her cheek against his. "And you try to cover that guilt, those lies, with someone who could never make it go away. You are trapped. You are bound to me. And she is nothing."

He wanted her to go away. He wanted her to be nothing but a memory of a life he didn't live anymore. But she held him down. Why was she still holding him down? "She," he repeated, feeling her little fingers tap along his shoulders.

"Your rope. The_ sky_. You are telling yourself more than one lie, my love. How can that woman be anything to you when I have you completely? You may have let go of who I grew into, but I am here to stay with you always." Talia wrapped her small arms around his neck, held herself against his back as she hugged him, and sighed contently. "You said you would die for me. And yet your heart still beats. Until it stops, you can never be rid of me. Trying to replace me is a waste of time. And just as I did, she will die because of you. She will die because you have selfishly tried to fill a void. And I will _rejoice_ when she does."

Bane had successfully avoided her gaze the last time she had come to haunt him. He had been unsure of how he would feel if he glanced at her face. But he failed this time. This time, Talia grabbed his face, and forced him to look at her.

_Torture._

She had been so pretty as a girl. So adorable, with her big brown eyes and that curious grin that only a child could make. He used to make her laugh so he could block out the sounds of the weaker men when the stronger ones would take them, when they would scream for help in agony from a pain that would never go away. He used to hold her at night to keep her warm. He used to shave her hair to keep her gender a secret. He had done everything for her. Bane felt his heart stop as he stared at her face.

He had done everything, and it had been his biggest mistake.

"A rope is nothing compared to the _sun_," Talia told him, holding his gaze, keeping him in place. "I am the sun. I am your life. One day soon, your rope will be _cut_. And you will grieve again, with only me to keep you warm. Only me, and the guilt that causes you to suffer."

And for the very first time, in his entire life with her, Bane felt angry with the girl that had practically been his own child. He held onto it then, wished for it never to leave him so that he could fight her off. Camille was his rope. And he would not let that rope be cut. Even now, she was pulling him away, using his anger as leverage. Bane stared back at the girl and muttered, "The sun is blinding."

Her big eyes widened slightly. Swiftly she released him, paced in front of him furiously. And even in the dream, he could feel her imagined frustration, similar to how she used to get when he would forbid her from leaving their cell on certain days. Bane tried to feel some kind of victory, but when she suddenly stopped in front of him, when he felt dread creep inside his chest, he knew that it would not be so easy to win completely.

"Shall I cut your rope for you then?" she asked innocently, and stepped aside.

Camille stood in front of him now. Her head was down, her scars leaking blood. All the places she'd been hurt during her time with him, and all the places where she'd hurt herself seeped and dripped. Her scars were signs of her past abuse, of her past depression. To the average person, Camille would have instantly been judged for her pain. But even with all those scars, even with all her dysfunctions, Bane knew he would never have her any other way.

But little Talia hated Camille.

Her small feet stepped between them, her hand holding the dagger she'd used on one of the men who had attacked her mother on the first day he had died. And Bane found that he couldn't move an inch. All he could do was watch as Talia took small steps closer to his rope.

"I grew up, Bane," she said softly to him as his eyes went back and forth from Camille to Talia. She looked Camille up and down, scoffed some in a jealous, childlike way. "You touch her body like you touched mine when I had grown."

They were two people, he frantically told himself. Little Talia and adult Talia were separate. They were apart of two different lives. He'd loved one different from the other. That had to be the truth, because he would die in the horror of it otherwise. Camille remained still, nothing but a body in a dream, nothing but another form of suffering the girl was using on him. And Bane had to keep still to be stronger than her. Talia lifted her dagger like the nightmare she was. "The past means nothing," he whispered to himself.

"You want her like you wanted me."

Talia stabbed Camille in the stomach.

Bane leapt up and surged forward then.

* * *

He couldn't breathe, he couldn't move. He couldn't move because some weight was holding him down, covering him and keeping him secure. He heard a faint voice calling his name, felt like he was suffocating and sweating to death. Bane snapped up in bed, frantically looked around, forgetting where he was. And only remembering where he'd been in his sleep.

"Wake up," Camille said to him, sitting on her knees and trying to console him, holding his shoulders and doing everything she could to soothe him. She grabbed his masked cheeks, forced him to look at her and know that he was awake, that he was no longer trapped in his nightmare. "You're awake, Bane. Calm down. Please just calm down."

Bane's mask wheezed harshly as he sucked in the painkillers. He stared into her eyes, black eyes and not young brown ones. Innocent brown eyes that had killed him with the sadness he could never make go away. But these eyes were different. These eyes he knew, and he could be calm because they were here. He forced himself to release the gripping hold on the ropey sheets around him, and told himself that it was not Gotham's day of reckoning, that Talia was dead, and things had changed. Bane looked down Camille's body, past the bra she'd worn to bed and to her stomach. Nothing was there except her white skin. No blood, no stab wound. She was fine.

He knew he'd been dreaming. But he still had to make sure.

Camille frowned when he looked down at the sheets to compose himself, and ran her hand up and down his back. When he'd begun thrashing in his sleep, she hadn't really known what to do, didn't know how to think about what she should do because she'd been so concerned. Bane never had nightmares. He'd talked before, when he'd been half awake half asleep, but never a nightmare like what he'd just had. She was the one who went through stuff like that, not him. And because he _wasn't_ that type of person, because he didn't let fear get to him to the point of bad dreams, she knew for certain that he had dreamed of Talia again.

And knowing that, it gave her the worst feeling.

He wouldn't tell her what the problem was. Camille leaned back against the headboard of the bed, pulled him to her chest like she always would when it came to Talia al Ghul so that she could hold him. He wouldn't tell her because he didn't like discussing Talia with her, had never been happy about it even back in their therapy days. And the more she thought about it, the more she was convinced that maybe even Bane didn't know why Talia's memory was plaguing him now. She knew that she could help him. She also knew that Bane didn't want her help when it came to the subject.

But there was always a breaking point. Camille held her arms around him, wondered when she would stop having to fight off a ghost.

But for him, she never would.

Camille kissed his head around the mask as he buried his face in her chest. His skin was clammy and sweaty from dreaming, but she didn't care. She held him close anyway, and waited for him to calm more.

"You need to tell me what's going on," she said softly to him, moving her fingers along his forehead.

"Everything will work itself out. You don't need to concern yourself."

She could have found it funny that two people who had been so independent could still try to remain so even as they reached for each other. He'd reached, so all she could do was hang onto him. "Why did you look at me that way when you woke up?" When he remained silent, but still leaning against her, she quickly tried to process what could have went on in his mind. "I know you dream of her. Did you dream of me too? Did something happen to me?"

"Camille," he breathed against her chest.

"I told you there was still something bothering you when it comes to her. I can help you. If you just tell me…"

Bane breathed in her morning skin, and suddenly felt too tired to move. He didn't know what time it was, but he knew he needed to get up. He didn't know what was going on in Dr. Lane's head at the moment, but he knew he didn't want another therapy session. So many conflictions and not enough solutions. And now there was this. This little girl with her pretty face. "Some things are better left… forgotten."

"Bane," she said softly, knowing he would withdraw from her if she pressed him further. But she couldn't stand to see him that way. She couldn't stand to watch him suffer. "Talia shouldn't be able to hurt you anymore. Stop allowing her to."

"Nothing can hurt me," he replied stubbornly, and forced the small girl and the image of her stabbing Camille away from his mind.

Camille sighed, felt his body temperature return to normal and the sounds of his mask hiss regularly. "I'm going to find out one day. One day, you're going to talk to me, and we're going to figure this out. If you won't stop her from hurting you because you're afraid of what you'll discover, then I'll just do it for you."

"Why?" he demanded, lifting his head and staring at her sleepy face. "Why do you care? Talia is dead and I have you. She no longer matters."

Camille kept her mouth shut as she stared back, and tried not to remember their little conversation on the roof from last night. She knew why she did certain things when it came to him. She knew why she worked so hard to fit into his world when the hard truth was that maybe she didn't belong in it. And it was that same knowledge that made this situation with Talia important. She had to get rid of Talia completely for him, no matter what form she took in his mind. She had to set him free.

"It matters," she murmured to him, and placed her hand over his heart that was now beating normally. "I'm trying to do this in your time. But eventually that time is going to run out. When it does, I'll be waiting for you."

Bane sighed, glanced down at her chest before moving back to her eyes. She was planning, he could tell. Planning a way to trap him and force him to tell her things he shouldn't talk about. He wanted Talia to go away once and for all, but he just couldn't figure it out, or couldn't deal with it. Whatever the reason was, he didn't want to think about it now. He sighed again, maneuvered her legs underneath him so he could rest comfortably between them. "You frustrate me," he whispered.

"That just means I'm doing my job."

He looked at her face again, saw the laughter there. And whatever stress he felt from either his work or his memories instantly seeped away, if only for a little while. Talia had been haunting him since their return Gotham, and now she was bringing Camille into it as well. He didn't know how he was going to solve that, knew that he would have to think of something so that he wouldn't have to watch her get hurt again. But he would do it. He would save himself that image, and the wrath of his former therapist if the nightmares continued. Wanting a distraction for now, Bane looked down to her side and the bandage there that protected a small bullet graze. He may not want to talk about his problems right now, but for the sake of so many other things, he knew that he would have to talk to her about her actions. Especially the actions taken, and the words spoken, from last night.

But it could wait an hour or two.

"You have frustrated me since the very first day I met you."

Camille let him pull her completely underneath him by her legs, and smiled up at him because she knew it would make him feel better. "It would have been better for you if you hadn't been so grumpy. And look," she murmured, running her fingers along the skin of his face that she could touch. "You're still grumpy."

_One day soon, your rope will be cut._

Bane stared down at Camille as she touched him, as she soothed him, and tried to believe that his mind was lying to him. Talia had said that she was the sun, and the sun was too blinding to him. But his rope… How could he let his rope be cut? How could he sit back and watch the sun take away the night sky that held him at this very moment? Camille had once told him that if he died, then she would be dead too. To have his rope cut would only mean that he would fall.

And die on impact.

So the only solution was to hang on.

Bane maneuvered his arms underneath her, wanting to feel her skin, the entire length of her body against his. He pulled on her curls a little, made her smile softly again. "Will you kiss me?" he asked her, and lowered his eyes to her lips.

She could rarely kiss his mouth, but she would take the rest of his skin happily enough. Bane enjoyed the feeling of her kisses, so she would give him that comfort now. "Of course I will," she told him, and waited until he leaned down to her.

Camille didn't want Bane to remain in bondage. And it was only a matter of time before she would take matters into her own hands, and rescue him from a dead girl. She kissed him everywhere she could, soft little pecks of her lips along his face, his neck, his shoulders, and back up to do it all over again. Of course she would kiss his mouth if she could, but the mask was just as familiar as the face underneath it. She wrapped her arms around him, the scars along his back rubbing against the scars along her forearms, and binding them together continuously.

Last night had been difficult in so many ways. But for right now, it hardly mattered to either of them.

* * *

Of course she had gotten what she deserved. She had disobeyed their leader, could have compromised their entire operation, and had yelled at that leader afterwards. He'd heard it. They'd all heard it, just as they heard everything those two did, whether they would try to ignore them or not. And Barsad, knowing that _this time_ hearing them had been worthwhile, couldn't have been happier.

Oh, she had been punished all right, he thought with a smirk as he checked the base in the early hours of morning. That woman had finally gotten the lashing she should have gotten a long time ago. He'd heard Bane as he scolded her, as he punished her physically. Usually Barsad hated knowing the simple knowledge that they were intimate as often as they were, but this time had been very different. This time Bane had used her body as punishment, as a sort of revenge for waltzing around and doing whatever she felt like doing just because she slept in his bed. Barsad had been happy with Bane, finally, knowing that that woman had finally been scolded for her stupid actions.

The gunshot wound to her side had been an added bonus. Now she would have a reminder for her stupidity, and her punishment. Discipline was permanent, and now she would live with a mark to add to all the others. Barsad had known instantly what lay ahead of Dr. Lane as soon as he'd spotted Bane's face after she arrived back to base.

And that face had been the face of his leader he knew all too well. The face he'd been waiting so patiently for.

Barsad wondered idly what Bane had done with her after he'd punished her, and used her up. Maybe he had tossed her to the streets, finally coming to his senses that some woman like her could never fit in with their world. Maybe he'd killed her. He certainly had killed able-bodied men for lesser things.

It would be for the best, Barsad thought. It was best that she leave them, because she would only bring them down in the future. It was hard for him to see Bane so taken with another woman, knowing what the last one had done to him, and to them. The doctor had hardly done anything to him personally, but for Bane's sake, and the army's, he knew she had to go. He would not die for another insane scheme. And he would not allow Bane, his closest friend, to fall for another trap set simply by a pretty face.

Barsad was happy that things would go back to normal. The doctor had screwed herself, and would be sent away for her actions. It was one thing to sleep with Bane for a little while, like how it had been before. It was another to seemingly be committed to him and put the whole army in jeopardy because of it.

Normalcy. It felt like a breath of fresh air. He neared the apartment during his round through the factory. Stopped, and listened.

Dread crept into his body, and instantly sucked out all of that fresh air.

The door to the apartment, for whatever reason, was open just a tad. One of them had forgotten to secure it properly right before heading to bed, and the small crack allowed Barsad to peak in, and witness all his happiness go straight to hell. Looking through the crack, he could see the bed. He could see Bane, and the small white hands that travelled over his bare back.

The doctor was still here.

How was this possible? he thought as he watched Bane lean down closer to her, whispering into her ear. He was certain that Bane had done the right thing, had made the right decision. He had convinced himself that the nuisance would take care of itself, and that her leaving would have been the best option for them all. And yet here she was.

Like nothing had ever happened. Like last night had not mattered at all.

Barsad continued to watch them as the dread ate away at him like a disease. Bane was now picking her up, flipping them over so that she was sitting on top of him. The sheets covered everything he shouldn't be seeing, but he could see the back of her. The doctor moved her long hair out of the way, leaned down a little when Bane pulled it back so that he could pet her curls.

How deep were her claws? Barsad asked himself, hating every inch of her white skin that he could see. How tightly did she hold Bane? Enough to still be here, he answered. Enough to still pull him in the direction she wanted. Enough to destroy them all, just like the last one. He watched as Bane's hands ran up her back, as they unfastened the bra around her chest. What would it take to make her leave? What had to happen to get Bane to see that she had been a bad choice all along?

Maybe Bane would have to get hurt. And this time, he would not recover.

Bane was touching her everywhere now, skating his hands all along her body, the body he thought belonged to him. But that couldn't be true, because Barsad feared that his leader was losing himself again to another woman that wished him harm. It had to be true. Because what woman could truly care for Bane? He watched Bane reach up to touch her face warmly, and felt concern. He then watched the doctor turn her face into his palm lovingly, and felt hatred.

She was a liar. She was a trifler. Just like Talia al Ghul…

His brother was lost again. And Barsad vowed that he would save him. Just as Bane had once tried to save his child… Barsad shook his head and left Bane to his privacy. That woman's claws were deep, but any weapon could be pulled out with enough force. And when that was done, he would toss her aside.

Bane may bleed for a little while, but every wound eventually healed.

* * *

Camille pulled down the hem of her tank top, patting her side some to make sure that the bandage was secure enough. After a relaxing hour with Bane, she'd showered and cleaned her wound after getting out of bed, then slicked on some pink lipstick to protect her lips from the cold weather. She had successfully kept them from getting chapped, and would continue to do so until they left here.

If they ever left here.

Bane was dressing now behind her in the bathroom, the bathroom that had surprised her when they'd first moved in. The rest of the studio apartment had been nothing fancy. They had actually been very lucky that it had come furnished and clean within the factory. But the bathroom had been wonderfully remodeled what seemed like a year or two ago. It came with a lovely stand-in shower with golden tiles, and a big pearl-colored Jacuzzi tub with jets. The light fixtures were modern, unlike the few lights within the apartment that were very much outdated, and brand new countertops that glistened in the glow.

And, being a woman, she loved it.

Camille looked back at Bane, feeling a little odd that she had finished getting ready before him. She saw him standing in front of the mirror, looking down at nothing and steadily drumming his fingers along the counter. She knew that he was unlike any other man. Whereas other men thought in boxes, one at a time, Bane could think of a million things at once. And right now, he looked like he was doing just that.

She knew he was stressed, from so many different things. She tried to help relax him whenever she could, but it had gotten a little difficult to do that now that she was suddenly within the army. Something fluttered in her chest then, something that felt like regret. And she knew that it was only the obligation she felt towards him for once being her patient.

But Bane would always be her patient. She had just… taken a different role for a little while.

She walked up to him, her boots clicking along the floor. His dark shirt hugged his torso, made of a fabric that could move efficiently for his work. He hadn't noticed her yet. He was still lost in thought. And when she calmly reached up to touch his shoulder, she eyed him when his head snapped in her direction.

She wouldn't say that he looked guilty. But his expression made her believe that the cause of his drifting had been thoughts of her.

"Are you okay?" she asked him, letting her hand trail down his arm.

He stared at her for a few moments before answering. "We must talk."

Maybe now really was the time when he would tell her what he was experiencing with the memory of Talia. Camille prepared herself to help him, and nodded. She walked to the edge of the bed, sat down as he slowly paced in front of her, much like he used to do when he would lecture her back in India. Camille calmly folded her hands on her lap, and waited for him to speak.

"I wanted to discuss with you about what happened last night."

At first she thought he was talking about his nightmare. And then realization took. Bane didn't want to talk about Talia. He wanted to talk about everything that had happened before they had gone to sleep. "Is this about Tony Zucco?"

"This is about everything, Camille."

She didn't know why, but her hands were suddenly gripping each other. "Everything. What's everything?"

"Everything is… you. What you have been doing. How you have been acting. And we must discuss it."

She didn't like those words. Camille looked away from him when felt a feeling that seemed too familiar to her. A feeling that had very much messed her up in the past. Bane's tone of voice and his words seemed like ones she'd heard before. And it hadn't been good. "I told you I was sorry for leaving. I wasn't lying."

Bane stood in front of her and watched her face. Usually he hated when she looked away from him when he wanted to talk about something important concerning her. But suddenly she looked so sad. And he could only speak to her softly. "I know. I believe you. But I must tell you something, because I don't think you fully understand." He sat next to her on the bed, noticed her gripping hands. It would take a lot of convincing to get through her stubborn curly head. But he would do it, because he needed his rope. "Camille… I know you want to think differently. I know you want to believe yourself just as capable as anyone else who works for me. But the simple truth is… you _are_ different."

She didn't like those words either. How could he say that to her? She'd been working so very hard to prove herself, to show him that she could change and be what he wanted her to be. That he didn't have to protect her, just because she was a woman and close to him. She wasn't different. She wasn't like Talia.

"I don't say that to hurt you. And I'm not saying it to make you feel inadequate."

"Then why are you saying it at all?"

"Because I don't want anything terrible to happen to you."

Camille shook her head and looked up at the ceiling because she didn't know where else to look. Instinctively, she crossed her arms so that she could scratch at the scars along her skin. He said he didn't want her to feel hurt or inadequate. And that was exactly how she was feeling. Again.

"I'm going to explain to you why so that you may stop pouting."

"I can take care of myself," she muttered.

Bane watched her scratch her forearms, and nodded. "I know you can. And _that_ was the purpose of your training." He didn't want to lose her. But he felt like her defensiveness was doing just that. He had thought for a very long time about what he would say to her, and how he would say it. There were some things Camille needed to hear, and needed to know. "Will you look at me?"

"_You_ were the one who said I needed to do this. _You _were the one who said I needed to change if I wanted to be with you. I changed because…"

_Because I want to be with you. Because I'm lost without you._

_Because I… so much._

Bane knew her thoughts. He knew her so well. How could she make him feel this way? Gently he took her face, pulled her cheek so that she would look at him. There were so many things that he could say, so many things that would smooth this over in no time at all. But he would give her the truth, because the truth would keep her safe. "I will admit that I had gotten ahead of myself when it came to you and your place here. There were things I asked of you that may have been unwise, and it was by glorious luck that you were not killed in the process. And before you snip at me," he added, feeling like she was a cat with her fur steadily rising. "I will also tell you that you are very much capable for certain tasks. You found us transportation here by using your wisdom and your strength. And I also fully trust you during combat with Miss Quinzel. But leaving alone with a weapon is _not_ something I feel you are ready for. You come with limitations."

"Limitations," she repeated softly, and wished she didn't have to look in his eyes. Her chest felt like it was caving in, and she wasn't even sure why. But she knew that she would fall apart… If this conversation was going where she had experience of it going, then she would fall hopelessly apart. "I don't have any limitations, remember?"

Bane shook his head at her. "You are confusing two different matters. I will agree with that statement when we are in bed. In bed, Camille, you satisfy me completely. But when we are in the world, when we do the work, you most certainly do have limitations. I trained you so that you can stay alive. I did not train you to venture off on your own with a gun so that you can take on the mob."

"You're killing me."

Bane stopped talking. Her sudden words confused him, and the way she was looking at him made him feel dizzy. Camille pulled her face away, rubbed her hands over her hair repeatedly and took a deep breath. He sensed something from her, something he hadn't expected. Of course he knew that she would try to convince him that she would be just fine. But this, this was something different. Her expression matched her words, and made him feel that maybe she was thinking of something else entirely.

"You're killing me," she whispered, scratching hard at her forearms, feeling each and every one. "Can't you tell? I can't do this again. I've heard these words from you too many times. I don't want to hear them."

Somebody was confused, and maybe it was both of them. Bane tried to touch her, but she batted him away. "I don't understand what you are telling me."

"I'm not coming back again."

Bane drew his brows together, stared at her hard. She wasn't coming back? But Camille always came back for him. He watched her face, and realized that he had seen this face before. She said she wasn't coming back.

Because he had sent her away twice before.

It dawned on him then. Bane had once set her free when she'd been his prisoner, and she'd returned. He then sent her away again, because their time of sleeping with each other had come to an end. And she had rescued him from the pit. A feeling he only associated with Camille consumed him then, made him feel like everything had gone wrong. And for right now, it had.

How could she think that?

"Camille," he said gently, taking her hands so that she would stop turning her skin red with her nails. "Camille, do you think I am asking you to leave me?"

She couldn't bear to hear it. She had heard it twice before. The first time had been strange. The second time had been inevitable, but still very hard. This time… If she had to leave him a third time, she wouldn't know what to do with herself. She couldn't exist in the world without him anymore. Without him, she was nothing.

She couldn't bear it.

"Ah. You are a silly girl," he murmured next to her. He felt like he should smile, but it seemed like the worst thing he could do in front of his suddenly very emotional woman. He took both of her wrists, held them away from each other as he felt the raised scars underneath his fingers. "Whatever you are thinking, you must stop. You are _not_ leaving me. I'm afraid, my dear, that you are not allowed to."

When she spoke next, her voice was hardly a whisper. "But I feel like you're asking me to go—"

"Those are lies that you are telling yourself. I'm not asking that of you. But what I am _telling _you, is that you will do what I think is best for you. It has nothing to do with Talia. How I feel for you is very different." Bane placed his hand on top of her head. He could feel the anxiety leaving, hated the fact that it had been put there in the first place. But he couldn't say if it would return with his next words. His next words, he knew, would be very hard for her to take. "You told me last night in your anger that I had created a monster. And I will not allow that to happen to you. You have known a monster, Camille. And the further you disobey me, the more you try to be what you are not, you develop traits of that very monster."

Camille looked at him then, first his eyes and then the mask. It wheezed some with his breathing, also causing a very faint hiss of medicine that was continuously being pumped into his body. She made that medicine for him. And he wasn't asking her to leave. But she couldn't help but feel that maybe their original roles were being reversed again. Oddly, she felt like she was in therapy. "I don't understand."

Bane took a deep breath, chose his words carefully. He knew this part of Camille's life was her very worst. He also knew that the very things _he_ did could be seen as monstrous. But he would keep Camille from falling into the corrupt. "I say these things to you now because I wish to protect you. You have fallen into a habit, although a _breakable_ one, where you use sex to get what you want from me. I know that I have not helped the situation since I have lacked resistance. But there is someone in your life that uses that very weapon."

She didn't want to use sex. She wasn't that type of woman. Was she? How could she be when she'd only ever slept with two men in her entire life? Maybe this was all too much for her to take right now, she thought faintly. Maybe she just wasn't understanding, because understanding other people's problems had always been so much easier than understanding her own. She waited for him to continue.

And then wished he never had once he spoke.

"Who acts that way, Camille?"

Bane watched as she visibly paled, going even whiter than what she already was. All color faded from her cheeks, her eyes, everything about her drifting away to utter blankness. She felt like she was having a heart attack. She felt like time itself had stopped. Bane had to be wrong. He had to be wrong because she had spent her entire life living differently. She was different than who he was talking about. She was _nothing_ like that. But the more she thought about it… the more she could see it.

Her mother acted that way. She was acting like her mother.

_Oh my god._

Out of all the reactions Bane expected, this had not been one of them. Camille suddenly flew herself at him, pulling her entire body against him as she wrapped her arms around his neck, hugging him in a way they rarely did with each other. If it had been anyone else, they would have toppled over from her force. But Bane caught her. Just as he always would.

"I'm sorry," she whispered against him, apologizing in a way he'd never heard from her before. In a way that told him he had gotten through to her, and that she would correct it immediately. He felt her tremble slightly, felt her go chilly. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to… I'm not like that. I don't behave that way."

Slowly, he wrapped one arm around her waist, held her close because she needed him to. It always felt odd, to hold someone like this. Being intimate with her was one thing. An actual hug was something else. Bane wasn't accustomed to hugs. No one had ever hugged him besides Camille and Talia. It was odd. But it was… nice. "I know you don't."

"I thought… I don't know what I thought. But not that. Never that. I won't do that to you ever again. I promise."

How could she have acted even a smidgen like her mother with him? How could she have used something like sex, his needs and wants, against him so that she could do what she thought was necessary? She would kill herself before she became her mother, her monster. She would die before she treated him the way her mother had treated her father.

Like nothing. Nothing but an easily aroused and distracted man.

"I didn't mean to hit you. God…" Camille placed one hand over her face, finally coming to her senses, finally grasping that understanding. Last night had been so terrible when they'd been arguing. Suddenly she remembered her job. She took care of him. She protected him when no one else would. She had stuck by him during his darkest hour. "Did I hurt you? Did I damage anything?"

Bane laughed against her, took her hand so that he could rub her still red knuckles from the blow she'd taken to his mask with his thumb. "I apologize for my insensitivity, but you could hardly injure me physically."

Camille leaned back just far enough so that she could look at his face without him removing his arm from around her waist. And even though he had told her otherwise, she brushed her fingers down the grate of his mask, feeling for anything out of place or broken. She didn't want to hurt him. She could never hurt him.

Bane tilted his head to the side some as he watched her eyes, as her fingers trailed down the mask almost in a wondrous way. "I'm sorry for the things I said to you last night. All I want is for you to understand my wishes when it comes to your wellbeing. You _are_ different, because you are close to me. You_ do_ have limitations, because I will not lose you. You belong to me. And what belongs to me is to be kept safe."

Suddenly, his words from last night entered her mind. She remembered that he'd lost himself in passion, and had said things to her that he may have not wanted to be spoken aloud. But she understood them now. Everything had to do with Talia, and everything was something other than her. Bane had acted differently with her in India because India held nothing for him when it came to certain things, when it came to what had happened somewhere else. And ever since they returned to Gotham, he had been stressed more than she could ever remember him being. Realization took hold as she recalled his exact words as he had punished her with his body.

_I will not go through that again. I will not have someone tell me… if something happens…_

Bane wanted to keep her safe in Gotham because Talia had died in Gotham. It wasn't about control, it wasn't about orders.

Bane was afraid that she would die.

In that moment, she completely adored him.

Where had she been? she asked herself. Where had she been since she consumed herself with trying to fit in with a band of exotic mercenaries? Of course she was still a part of the army. And of course her training really hadn't been for nothing. But where had this been between them? This connection she had never felt with anyone else, this need for someone who needed her just as much? Where had her wisdom gone that had been taken over by brute strength? She had almost lost herself again, but coming back made it all worthwhile. She knew her place. And it was right here, because neither of them belonged anywhere else. She would still fight with him, but only when he knew she could handle it. She would still be the person he'd trained her to be, but a _wise_ one. She made the vow, stuck with it and knew that she would keep him safe for as long as she lived.

She had never known trust before him. Now, she had to surrender to it.

"You are not a monster," Bane told her softly, running his hands down her hair. "And you are still a soldier. You are _my_ soldier."

Imagine that, she thought to herself as she stared up into those incredible eyes. It took a terrorist to say things like that to her. Not a family, not a husband. Not a mother. But him. And she could want him, every minute of everyday. Was certain that she would go on wanting him after she was dead and gone. He was the pulse, the reason, the breath. Everything.

And he was hers.

Bane gave her a look, smiled with his eyes like he always did. Slowly, so slowly it almost seemed unsure, he leaned down to her face and tilted his head. His way of asking for a kiss he could rarely actually feel. Camille wondered if she could say to him the things she felt. But she didn't want the words, because the words before had tied them to the wrong people. Words like that were for other people. People who lived in the light. Softly she kissed the mouthpiece of his mask where she knew his lips were, found herself taking his shoulders so that she could keep doing it, and imagining she were being kissed back by the lips she knew before the mask. People in the light may have other things like words and abilities neither she nor Bane had when it came to relationships.

But they could keep all of that. She would take the metal before another pair of lips. She would take these very rare and eloquent demands from him before a confession of love.

"There are times," Bane murmured softly as she kissed him, his voice smooth and cool like water, "when I wish I did not have to wear this mask. If only so that I could taste your skin, or kiss you whenever I felt the need." He moved his fingers into her hair, sliding them across her scalp. Through the grate of the mask he could smell her, an intoxicating smell that annoyed him and drew him in at the same time. He moved the tubes over to her cheek, across her jaw and down her neck. "I wonder what exactly you taste like here… I imagine you are a sweet one."

Camille shivered, tilted her head to the side so that he could have more of her skin. "Apologies and affection. Where's all this coming from? I have to say I'm not used to it."

He gave a breathless laugh against her neck. "Perhaps I feel you deserve it. Apologies and affection is easy to give you this way when I know that you won't continuously expect it from me."

"I don't." Camille felt something lift from her then. She could remember a time when Bane had forced her to take care of him. And she had not cared in the least about how he, or any of his men, felt about her. When that had changed, when she realized now that her hard work to prove herself was just so that he wouldn't send her away for a third time, it had taken over that very job. Maybe now she could find rest, and be the soldier she knew she could be when he needed her. Just as he'd always needed her, ever since their first day of therapy.

"I most certainly expect it from you, though."

"How fair of you," she answered dryly.

He grinned. "And that, too, just means you are still doing your job well, Dr. Lane." He reached up to brush her lips with his thumb, another way of kissing her. It was inevitable that his rope would be cut one day. But until then, he would keep her for as long as possible. "Going out on your own without protection is behind you. Tell me you understand."

"I understand."

He pulled some on her hair, refused to remember the image of a knife plunging into her stomach because he could not save her. "Now tell me like you mean it."

She put her hands on his chest to try and push him away, pulled her hair from his hand. "_I understand_. But keeping me locked up like you used to do is also out of the question. Orders from Dr. Lane."

His eyes brightened. "Yes, ma'am."

She gave him a soft smile in return, and then suddenly she looked so sad. Camille looked down at her scars, saw a few of them, the worst ones, red from her scratching. She had never felt regret from cutting her skin when she'd been younger. The act had saved her when she'd been so very alone and lost, the scars also setting her apart from the mother who could be described as perfect in every way. And for a moment, she'd had something in common with the worst of her past. "I've lived my life a certain way… I don't want to be like her. Please don't let me be like her."

He scoffed, brushing the worry away. "Of course not. Would you like to know the main difference between you and your mother?"

Bane knew of her mother more than anyone else in her life not related to her. Even Jackson had never asked questions about her, had never even met the woman. But Bane was different, because her mother hated Bane possibly even more than her own daughter. Hated him enough to threaten Camille into killing him as revenge for the revolution. And it was almost nice, in an odd way, to no longer be alone when it came to her. She nodded.

"Mrs. Angeli is a beautiful woman. And she has used that beauty as a crutch for life. Without it, she is nothing. She is _weak_, a lesser woman. It takes a greater woman to rise above the traits of her past, to climb from the pit and be free. And you are on your way out," he told her, taking her hands and curling them into fists. "She is weak, but you are brave. You have the strength to make the climb. A lesser woman is content. A greater woman _jumps_."

That adoration she felt a few moments earlier for him spread through her veins like static, sizzling and warming her, making her feel like she could climb a thousand feet. He gripped her fists within his own, powerful fists that had helped find her strength. She was on her way out, he'd said. On her way to never feeling anything for her mother, on her way to the freedom that had once evaded him in prison. But just as she was, Bane was still trapped within the pit by a little girl who would not leave him alone inside. Whatever the reason was, there was still something inside him that could not let the child go. And letting her go was what Camille wanted for him. "You can make the climb, too."

Bane watched her readjust their hands until they were each gripping each other's wrists. Holding on because there was nothing else to hang on to. Camille had won the war when it came to the woman Talia had become. Now, she hoped to take on his torturing little girl. Bane set his forehead onto hers, thought of Talia's ferocious face from his dream, blood dripping from Camille as the girl raised her small dagger. His leap to his woman that had been too late.

_Do you love me?_

_No._

"Perhaps we will pull each other out," he said.

* * *

Bane had left for much of the day, leaving Camille at the factory so that she could begin making more analgesics for his mask. These days, she liked to get multiple canisters made, although not too many that would cause expiration, just so that it wouldn't have to be done as frequently during their time in Gotham before. After they'd moved into the apartment a while ago, Bane had ordered a couple of his men to help her with her setup for preparation. Everything she needed to create his medicine was here and portable for future sudden, or far away, moves.

Later into the evening, after he had returned home and she'd fed him, Bane had received a call from a few of the mercenaries out on patrol throughout Gotham. Camille watched his face as he listened on the phone, Barsad and a few of the others cramped within the apartment listening in as well. Bane remained silent for a while before drifting his gaze over to her, keeping his eyes on her as he answered them and told them he was on his way.

"There are dead bodies," he said to the room after handing the phone back to Barsad, everyone quiet and listening. "Our own. There is no blood, no bullets. They were killed in a way we have not seen before."

"The Nightwing," Barsad suggested.

"Does not kill," Bane answered, already pointing to five men he hardly knew, five who had been recruited after he'd regained his army last year. "The others are confused. They don't know how to prepare for the night because they don't know the cause. Dr. Lane," he chirped, causing all eyes to go to her. Bane stood, gave her a slight nod. "You will come with me. We need a diagnosis."

_When he needed her…_ Camille grabbed her leather jacket to slip on over her black shirt and matching skinny jeans, sauntered into the bathroom to grab her pink lipstick as Bane and the few chosen headed for the vehicles. Barsad would stay behind to lead the others remaining at the base in case backup was needed.

The drive to the sight of the murders hadn't been very long. The bridge that made up a small part of Gotham's most busy freeway was where they found them, underneath the structure where cops had once patrolled but had to cease operations there once crime deep within the city had gotten too bad. The mercenaries who'd died had been stationed there so that they could keep track of anyone important who was coming and going from Gotham. Bane hardly knew these men either, but the loss was still an annoyance.

Camille walked next to Bane who was grasping the lapels of his own leather jacket, the loud sounds of rushing cars above them from the bridge almost exploding in the air and vibrating along the concrete underneath their feet. The wind was loud and harsh here, sending the smell of the dead they were nearing straight through their noses. She could see them up ahead, only two of them sprawled out on the ground like rag dolls. She had seen dead bodies before. Maybe not like this, she admitted. More like the identifying type when patients she knew from the asylum would kill themselves and she had been one of their doctors. This couldn't be much different.

But it was different. Different because even she had never seen death like this before.

Bane stood at her side as she crouched down next to one of the bodies, a young man who could have been anyone, but now looked like nothing but a terrible corpse. She drew her brows together, stared at the face, the neck of the man. This was probably the worst thing she'd ever seen. So bad because it was so foreign.

The man's face looked black and blue, mostly around the neck, chin, and above the lips. The yellow and green of infection joined the swirl of colors, nasty saliva still seeping out of a mouth that was wide open, along with the eyes that were bloodshot red and seemingly bulging. But, oddly enough, none of that drew as much attention as another indication of death.

The man's mouth was wide open… and smiling from ear to ear in a grotesque grin.

"What did this?" Bane asked her, strangely calm from such a sight.

She shook her head as she stared at the gaping mouth. "I've never seen something like this before. But…" Her gaze dropped to the man's neck, and the jagged scratches that lined the skin. His hands were clutched on his chest, the missing flesh from his neck embedded in his fingernails. Going by this and other symptoms, Camille also knew that if she were to remove his shirt, the man's chest would be just as black and blue. "It looks like he asphyxiated. They both did," she added, looking to the other body that was exactly the same way. She pointed to his neck. "This is a sign of suffocation, as is most of the coloring. But I don't know what could have caused the facial formation."

Bane stared at the horribly smiling and suffering face. "The culprit is not hard to decipher," he muttered, building anger lacing his voice.

"No, it's not." She sighed, stood so that she didn't have to be as near to the body. "I wouldn't even know how a person would create something capable of doing that. I know it's a cliché line, but I'm not this kind of doctor. My specialty is mental, not medical. He's obviously good with chemistry," she commented.

The Joker had something new, something deadly. Something Bane was not prepared for. Chemicals weren't really their weapons of choice, not in his army. And ignorance on a subject was not something he could settle for. "Can you gather any kind of sample to be tested?"

"It's either a gas or an injection. Even if you found out _what_ exactly was put into this, it wouldn't matter because you have no way of knowing the exact dose. It would take something outstanding to counteract it. This is just… insane."

Bane took a deep breath, his mask wheezing. "I don't care for surprises."

Camille shook her head, and hoped she wouldn't dream of those faces. "Neither do I."

Their heads snapped up at the same time. His men drew their weapons at the sound of movement.

* * *

The voices over the phone were low and muttered, trying not to be heard from either side. One person over the line paced, continuously having to agree with themselves. The other was weighing the options, almost astounded that this phone call was happening right at this moment. But they calculated all the same. Calculated, and decided that there was something here in this bargain after all.

"You would do that," the person murmured into the phone. "How nasty of you."

"It has nothing to do with being nasty. You know that. I've explained my situation."

The voice was smiling. It was easy to tell by the soft tone of it. "You have. And of course I agree with you. But I must say that I am quite… shocked."

"If we have a deal then I will send you the location, and the approximate time for pickup. If we don't, then I will hang up."

"And what?" they asked, that smile spreading seductively. "Will you lie? Like a bad little child."

"I will be lying regardless. But it is for the best. I've come to you offering you a prize. It is your choice whether to take it or not."

"You would really do it? You would give her to me? My, you _are_ full of surprises." The person leaned back, stretching long limbs. "You are very confident, _innamorato_. What will your friend say?"

"Do you want her or not?"

Dark brows rose. "So angry. Ah, to see her. You will give me a pleasant time. I look forward to it."

The other nodded. "After you take her… I want to be informed of her condition. I don't care what you do with her, but I want to have that knowledge."

"We will have to see about that. But I'm willing to compromise. We have an accord. Send me your information and I will do you the favor as a gift."

"You must prepare yourselves. He will immediately begin looking for her."

"Don't worry yourself. What's done is done. Enjoy your gift." They disconnected with a lazy smile. How very surprising, they mused. So surprising to have been given the call. Planning already, they realized that there was so much to do. The person chuckled softly, sighed contently.

"I wonder what will become of the monster when his whore is taken away…"

* * *

Three of the chosen men stayed in the back in case of an ambush, and the remaining two moved in closer to Bane, holding their rifles that were now cocked and aiming towards the sound that had been heard. Bane took Camille's elbow, pulled her behind him as the traffic above roared and the wind around them howled. One of the great pillars that had been built to hold the bridge emitted the sound of movement again. Bane wondered if it was just the squandering sounds of Gotham's homeless. He looked down at the dead bodies, and thought otherwise.

His suspicions were confirmed as soon as a familiar voice boomed, a voice full of laughter and chaos. Glee and insanity.

_The Joker._

"Test subjects, take two!"

What looked like a purple bouncy ball flew at them from behind the pillar. Bane and the others were given no time at all before it made a click at their feet, hissing as it instantly began to seep.

A giant burst of lucid green gas smothered them.

Everything around them became fog, faint green fog that blinded them for a millisecond or two. Bane realized that he'd lost his hold on Camille, and could only concentrate of trying to see his enemy, trying to see anything except the gas swallowing them up. He waved at the air around him, waited until it started to clear before assessing everything. As quick as the gas had erupted from the small ball, it started to fade away, clearing his sight instead of hindering it. Bane looked around, wondered if he should be feeling any kind of effect. But the only thing he could smell, the only thing he could even taste was the slight bitterness of his own painkillers through his mask.

Nothing was happening to him. What kind of weapon was this?

Bane looked down at the bodies they'd come here to see, to inspect. Instantly he knew that this was what had happened to them, this gas that had suffocated them and forced them to have a dead, ever present smile. But why was he feeling just the same? Bane stared at the bodies, blowing out a sharp breath through the mask that caused the fading gas to whoosh away from his mouth like a bull.

The mask. The medicine.

_It would take something outstanding to counteract it. _Camille had said that.

_Camille_. She'd been standing right behind him.

Bane instantly spun around, looked through the dwindling smoke. The two men that had come closer to him were writhing on the ground, trying to crawl away and failing, swallowed up by the smoke as well. The Joker spoke again as he emerged from behind the pillar, a few clown henchmen at his back. Bane couldn't give him a single thought as he searched through the smoke for his woman.

"Stuff's great, huh? Now people will have no choice but to laugh at my jokes!"

And then insane, exhausting laughter bellowed in the smoke, his men choking on it, clutching at their chests, failing miserably as they made their last sounds, smiles blooming over their faces that would never go away. But Bane could do nothing for them now. Finally he spotted Camille, backing away like a crab on her hands and feet, shaking her head to try and clear it as she coughed. He rushed to her, knelt down on top of her to grab her and hold her still. Bane took her jaw with his hand, using the other to press against her chest to keep her from moving as she fell onto her back. Her coughing became worse, followed by her beginning to choke and gag. His eyes widened, his heart began to sink.

Bane watched helplessly as Camille began to giggle.

**TBC**

**A/N: I'm sorry the last couple chapters or so have taken me a little longer to get out. You guys are going to love the next chapter. Things are going to get pretty intense from here on out. And just remember, loves, everything I write has a purpose, just like in **_**Mercenary.**_** Thank you so much for the reviews. Send me more please. I find that I update quicker with them. Kisses to you all. **


	16. Adrenalize

_**Amaranthine**_

**Chapter 16**

**Adrenalize**

"_I must confess I'm addicted to this. Shove your kiss straight through my chest. I can't deny I'd die without this. Make me feel like a god, adrenaline and sex." – In This Moment_

Bane's men were convulsing on the ground, clutching at their chests and necks as uncontrollable laughter boomed from their throats caused by the Joker's laughing gas. Sounds of shrieking mixed with it as they suffocated on hysteria, big, bright smiles taking over their once sullen and serious faces. They were slowly dying, laughing and choking at the same time.

Camille was dying along with them.

Her laughter was louder now, building up slowly and becoming hoarser as she tried to catch her breath, but found the act impossible because of the effects of the gas. Bane held her down to stop her from writhing with the others. He looked over to his other men, saw them standing a few feet back as just a swirl of the gas floated along the surface of the concrete, fear of suffocating along with the others and Camille keeping them in their place.

He couldn't help the others but he had to help her. He wasn't going to watch her die.

There was only one way to save her. Bane wasn't too sure if it would do the job with Camille's body as it had done with his own, but he had to try. Because the alternative was unbearable. The effects of the gas could be counteracted by something of equal measure, something so great and almost toxic that it had cancelled the gas out completely. He was fine because of that dosage. Camille needed it now so that she could live.

Her laughter became hysterical as Bane reached up to his mask, using his knee on her stomach to hold her down. She sucked in loud, gasping breaths, sobbing a little in pain before she would begin to laugh again, digging her nails into his thigh as she fought hard to breathe. Bane took one last huge breath into his medicine before pulling the mask away, holding his breath momentarily to keep the painkillers inside his body before they would leave him. He grabbed the back of Camille's hair, lifted her head before holding the mouthpiece against her face. He had once done this before with her. He had once given her the very tool that kept him alive so that she wouldn't be in any pain.

He gave it to her now so that he could save her.

She was still laughing as Bane held it against her hard, gripping her hair in anger now that she wasn't returning to normal. He glared down at her, blocked out the shrieking laughter of his dying men, and forced the medicine down her throat. His pain was already itching up his back like daggers, stabbing him repeatedly and overtaking him again. But that would feel like nothing if Camille suffocated. If he couldn't save her, the mask would seem useless. His hands were starting to go numb, his vision was wavering as scorching pain clawed at him. He straddled Camille's thighs, felt like an eternity had gone by because she was still laughing. He pulled her head back by her hair, opened her throat wider as she scratched at his forearm.

"Breathe," he growled desperately at her.

And at that moment, the silence of Camille's laughter felt like a miracle.

Camille gasped loudly, her whole body jolting and ceasing to suffocate as the effects of the gas were counteracted by the analgesics being pumped into her now. Her eyes went big as she stared up at Bane, finally taking in everything that was happening. She squealed a little as the mask covered her mouth, her voice almost sounding as mechanical as Bane's when he was wearing it. Her vision was back now, and she could breathe. Finally she could breathe. Camille pulled away the mask so that she wouldn't take in more than what was enough of the painkillers to save her. She looked back up at Bane hovering over her, took in his face and the evident suffering consuming him. He grimaced and winced.

Then groaned deeply in horrible pain as he collapsed on top of her.

Camille quickly wrapped her arms around him protectively as the other men made their last sounds. She couldn't think, there was too much going on. She needed to help him. Out of the corner of her eye she saw movement, a rush of a clown heading right towards her, a long crowbar raised over his head. Bane was vulnerable right now. Her temper rose, the fire consuming her.

Camille held on to Bane as she lifted her boot, and sent it crashing right into the rushing clown's crotch as hard as she could before he could harm Bane with his weapon.

The clown howled and fell onto his back, but it hardly mattered. Camille lifted Bane's head from her chest, felt him trembling on her, and faintly heard the sounds of struggle behind her. She grabbed the mask, quickly looked over to the men that hadn't been consumed in the gas and saw them fighting with the other clown henchmen that had been there for the Joker's trap.

"It's okay, it's okay," she whispered to Bane soothingly, even though she was having a difficult time holding him and maneuvering him so that she could latch the mask back on. His weight usually felt crushing to her, but right now it felt like nothing compared to the desperate need to help him. Finally she got the mask over his mouth. Now she just needed to work on straightening the straps. Camille noticed more movement ahead of her. This time, the Joker was casually walking closer, twirling a long knife through his fingers as his purple coattails flapped in the harsh wind. She kept her eyes on the clown as she adjusted the mask securely, knowing she had to save Bane before anything else. "Just stay calm, okay? Everything's fine, just breathe, baby." Bane groaned against her again as she latched the straps quickly, as she gave him a soft kiss on his forehead to soothe him further even though a knife was slowly nearing his back.

And then his body jerked as the medicine rushed his system right after the final strap was locked in place.

The Joker eyed Bane's back, raised his knife.

Camille used all her strength to push Bane off of her, all her speed as she quickly grabbed the fallen crowbar. She sprinted up just as the clown went to stab Bane.

She reeled her arms back to hold the crowbar like a bat, and knocked the knife right from his gloved hand with a powerful swing.

Camille lifted her boot again, kicked him right in the stomach. As he bent over with an _oof_, she sent an uppercut right underneath his painted chin, causing him to stumble and fall onto his bottom.

"Don't touch him," she hissed at the Joker, stepping in front of Bane as he waited for the medicine to chase away his pain. She quickly checked behind her to make sure he was still okay, saw the other three mercenaries fighting with the group of insane clowns. "I'll kill you if you touch him."

The Joker grinned up at her with his messy blood red smile. "Uh oh, Mama Bear's gnashing her teeth at me." He bared his own yellow teeth, growled at her like an animal. "Pretty neat… _accessory _your guy has there. Both of you should have died laughing by now." He giggled some, nodded approvingly at the other dead men who had met that very fate. "Let's see if Mama Bear can continue to keep her cub safe."

Camille turned around to Bane, saw the other clowns running towards him as he gathered himself. The three mercenaries tried to hold them off, tried to subdue them so that they could protect their leader. But they were new, and could only manage it for so long. She gripped the crowbar, swung at the nearest clown.

Camille and the others fought the clowns as Bane slowly found his strength and composure. He lifted his hands to the mask as the last of the brutal pain was easing away, searched for Camille and found her fighting around him, protecting him so that no one would hurt him. She jabbed the clowns in the stomach with her weapon, reared up one end to their faces.

_So this is what it's like…_

Bane stood, saw the Joker hightailing it into a nearby vehicle picking him up. The clown met his gaze as he hopped into the car next to Harley Quinn behind the wheel, and sent out an exaggerated kiss with a giant wave of his arm to Bane for a job well done. Anger gripped Bane, his hands fisting. He felt a roar within his chest, and knew that it could only be satisfied one way. The dead body of the Joker at his feet.

His hand bolted out of nowhere, grabbed one of the clown henchmen around the throat. And squeezed until the pulse under his palm ceased thumping.

Camille was still fighting, still hitting their enemy with her weapon. Just as she was about to strike someone else, a much larger hand wrapped around hers and halted her blow. She looked up and saw Bane, his body no longer afflicted from pain, and released the crowbar into his hand in relief.

"Bane," she breathed, checking him over.

"Go back to the truck."

She watched him, heard the rage in his voice that he hid well, and nodded. She protected him when she had to. Now she had to listen to him like they'd agreed. The clowns were falling back now that Bane was up and well, running off into the distance under the bridge so that they could get back to their own leader now that the trap had failed them.

But Bane would chase them down, and make them suffer.

"Will you come with me?" Camille asked him, taking his arm. "They might have more of the gas. They might have something else."

Bane opened his mouth to repeat his order to her, but was cut off when a whoosh was sent through the air, followed by Camille's wide eyes and her hands instantly going to her stomach. They both looked down at the cable cord wrapped around her middle.

Before she could be yanked away, Bane snapped his hands out and grabbed the cord, pulling hard on the other end. It jerked the opposite way once, causing Camille to yelp and stumble. Bane yanked again, heard something land on the concrete a few feet away from them.

The Nightwing stood before them now, his armor glistening in the moonlight, the royal blue of the symbol across his chest catching the glow. His wispy dark hair blew in the wind, and in his hands was a grappling gun, the cord from it around Camille as he tried to pull her away from her supposed captor. Bane didn't think anything else could make him angrier. Seeing this young man now proved him wrong. With a twist of his wrists the cord was snapped in half, freeing Camille and breaking the tie the hero had on her.

"Camille!" the Nightwing called to her.

She looked back at the one who thought he could save her, then to Bane. This was her protection, he reminded her with a simple look. What the city believed of them both would keep her safe and secure. She would have to act like something she wasn't now, she told herself. She would have to act like she'd been raped and stolen away by the very man she left everything for.

And Bane would have to play a part as well.

Bane grabbed her arm and yanked her behind him, barking at his men to take her away to the truck. Camille looked at the Nightwing, and found that she just couldn't call out to him. It was better if the hero believed the lie, but Camille hated that lie. Hated that they were seen as something they weren't. She couldn't condone it, so she remained silent as she was led away by the remaining men.

With Bane standing in front of him waiting to make a move, John Blake knew that he couldn't run after her to save her tonight. "Hang in there, Camille," he called out to her, and hoped that got her through until next time.

"Useless efforts," Bane snarled at him, deciding to take his anger out on the young man before him.

"And how the hell did you get out of prison? We threw you into the hole and left you there."

Bane smirked under the mask, remembered Camille standing at the edge of hell so that she could retrieve him. "I seem to have a guardian angel, little boy. She is quite lovely, isn't she?"

He couldn't save her, the voice in John's head told him. A voice that wouldn't leave him alone ever since the doctor had been taken. He couldn't save her, and now she was sick, the disease standing right before him now. He may have not saved her then, but he had to keep trying. He had to do what was right. "Give her up. Give her up and leave. You've done enough."

"Are you so quick to believe she doesn't _enjoy_ it?"

John didn't think he could hate the mercenary more than what he already did. He was wrong. "You're a monster," he muttered.

Bane looked over at a flicker of color. The clowns were coming back now, their eyes on the hero they enjoyed torturing with cruel games. Perhaps tonight was not the night to break the boy. With his dead at his feet, Bane decided to leave the rest to the clowns. There were things that needed to come first. "A matter of perspective, little bird."

The Nightwing suddenly lifted his forearm to block the fists of the Joker's henchmen as they rushed him, laughing and poking at his armor with whatever weapon they'd gained along the ground. He fisted his hands, flexed his arms against their attacks. With a signal to his armor, he heard the yelps of the clowns as they were jolted by the electric shocks from his suit, sending them off his body and to the ground. He quickly glanced back to the spot Bane had been standing, found it empty.

The only cure for Camille Lane would be to remove her from her disease. It was proving to be more difficult than he once thought, but if she could leave him once, she could do it again.

John Blake would snatch her away, and return her to the light.

* * *

On the way back to base, Camille repeatedly glanced over at Bane before looking back out the window to the city scape around them. After a few moments, her eyes would return to him, especially to the back of his mask where most of the latches were, just making sure that everything had been secured probably during the time of a struggle. He seemed fine after the first ten times she checked him, but she still wanted to absolutely sure.

She closed her eyes to become in tune with her own body. Camille hadn't even thought of the fact that Bane's own medication could counteract whatever chemical the Joker had created, cancelling out the effects completely and returning the body and mind to normal. She felt fine now, glad for the fact since the last time Bane had given her his mask she had reacted badly to too many drugs. But this time had been different. This time, she had almost suffocated from a poison no one else could fathom. And Bane's mask had been the perfect blocker.

Camille glanced over at Bane again, flinched a little as she met his gaze. Usually she wouldn't have been bothered by it. Bane was always looking at her. But the laughter she saw in his eyes made her uneasy. A second ago he'd been seething.

Now he was smiling at her.

"What?" she asked him impatiently, the very few mercenaries left paying them no attention as they drove on.

Bane had thought it would be a while before his rage left him. But then a sudden, faint memory had entered his mind, and changed it all. He wasn't sure if it had been reality, or his fuzzy and pained head from being without the mask long enough to save his woman playing tricks on him. "Did you call me baby?"

Camille blinked up at him, then quickly looked back out the window. "No."

"Are you certain? I'm quite sure I heard your voice."

She just shrugged, watched as a group of bikers peddled along the sidewalk. "You were in a lot of pain."

Bane chuckled and shook his head. It was an odd feeling to have been protected. Camille had always told him that she would, but tonight he had seen the truth in her words. And hearing her voice in the blinding midst of his pain, he had found his way back home much quicker than usual. He patted her thigh, smirked at her annoyance and embarrassment. "You are precious, my girl."

When they finally returned to the base, Barsad approached Bane for an update. He told his second of how their men had been killed, the ambush by the Joker, and how exactly the effects of the laughing gas worked. They would have to prepare for it, he told him. He would not have another encounter as anything but ready when facing the clown. After everyone had been debriefed, Bane told Camille to stay put. She knew she wasn't allowed to leave without anyone going with her, but a simple reminder was something he felt the need to give. He had to work for a while, going with Zaid to look at some technical issues, and told her she was to do whatever she felt like doing until he joined her for bed.

Camille was trying to live differently within the army. She felt secure in knowing that Bane wouldn't send her away, and that he would keep her right here with him. It was relieving to finally believe it. But because she _was_ living differently, she knew there was one simple matter that had to be dealt with for the sake of peace. Before, she hadn't cared at all about what Barsad thought of her because of the way he treated her.

Now, she knew that she would have to at least try and clear the air. She wasn't a petty woman. She was a mature one. And she would start acting that way again.

Searching for Barsad now, she wondered how she would be received.

Finally she found him, checking a large group of security monitors that videoed the outside of the factory. On top of the table as well was a rifle that he was carelessly cleaning, his eyes on the screens instead of the gun because his hands were so used to the act. Camille watched him work for a moment before taking a deep breath, and approaching him. "Excuse me."

He was a member of the League of Shadows. And for the second time of her coming up to him, Barsad jumped, pieces of his gun rattling. He glanced behind at her, already irritated from her presence and whatever words she would throw his way. "I don't like to be snuck up on."

"I wasn't sneaking." Camille walked a little closer, eyeing the disassembled parts of his rifle. "I wanted to speak with you. If you had a moment."

Barsad avoided her gaze. Instead, he stared down at the gun, suddenly very invested in putting it back together. "I hardly do. If you have something to say speak quickly. I have other tasks I need to attend to."

"Okay." She was used to this, she told herself, watching Barsad's back since he would not turn to face her. She was used to having to talk to someone who had no interest in talking back with her, or even acknowledging her. Most of her patients had been that way, the ones she'd needed to use all her skills to get through to. Bane had even been that way. And if she could handle Bane, she could handle Barsad. "Things haven't been very… cordial… between us."

Barsad shoved a piece of his gun together with more force than necessary. "You don't need to have any kind of relationship with me, Dr. Lane. I'm afraid I have no extra energy to make you feel welcome."

"I didn't want that. I mean… I never expected that of you."

"Then what did you expect of me? You are not Bane's wife. What is his is _not_ yours, as well."

Camille frowned. This was going to be hard, she decided. But she wasn't here to convince him of anything. She was only here to try and salvage whatever little peace she could between them. They had both said some things along the way that had been mean and wrong. And neither of them had ever tried to get along with the other. But even if he didn't agree, she knew that _she_ at least had to try. The way things were weren't working. She wanted to live without unhealthy confrontation. And to do that, she knew she needed to say things, even if she didn't want to.

Proclamation could bring freedom. She'd learned that during her training as a psychiatrist. Even if you didn't feel it in your heart, speaking the words aloud could help you get there.

"I'm sorry if I've made you feel uncomfortable."

Camille swallowed, slid her hands behind her back as the tinkering sounds of Barsad's work went silent. He still wouldn't look at her, and she didn't expect him to. The sooner she said what she needed to say, the sooner the both of them could go back to resuming their duties. Away from each other.

"I know you have… reservations about me. And I know that Talia al Ghul left a bad mark here. I apologize if I made you feel like it was just history repeating itself. That wasn't my intention, even though my recent actions could prove otherwise. I never thought I was above any of you. I honestly… was just trying to help. Or to be useful. The things I've said to you in the past weren't right." Camille looked down at the heels of his boots. She hoped her words were getting through to him. And if they weren't, she didn't know if there would be a next step to this. But Barsad was the second in command. Barsad… was important. "It _does_ matter what you are to Bane. I shouldn't have said that it didn't. And I know that you're just trying to protect him from making another bad choice when it comes… to women. I apologize for that, too. For making you feel like I were just out to harm him. But… I care about him."

Camille had been so secluded from relationships with others for years that she wasn't all too sure about what she should say to someone other than Bane to make things right. Talking about the problems of others was very different from reconciliation. But she had to learn. If she was going to stay here peacefully, she would learn for Bane. Barsad continued to keep his head down.

"I care about him enough to leave everything behind for him. I care about him enough to rescue him from the worst place of his past he's ever known. It's not that I need him to protect me because of my bad choices. I'm here now… for a different reason. I'm not like Talia. I would never want him to die because of me. You're important to Bane. And I hope that from this point out, we can find some kind of balance with each other. That's… that's all I have to say."

Camille didn't know what she expected. And maybe she felt relief when Barsad remained still, when he continued to keep his back to her. She didn't know how to be this way with people. Maybe he didn't either. She wished she could ask him what he was thinking, but knew that she didn't have that kind of relationship with him. Barsad wasn't her friend, and he wasn't her patient. So all she could do was wait. The problem was she didn't know what exactly she was waiting for.

And then he moved, just the slightest of movements. Camille watched as he turned his head to the side some, not fully looking at her but not fully dismissing her either. He kept his eyes on the ground, his mouth closed.

Camille felt the smallest of triumphs when Barsad gave her a slight nod.

Some people could speak without too many words. Some people could speak with only a look. And some people, people like her and Barsad, didn't need to speak to each other at all for it to mean something. Camille took his tiny acknowledgment, and treated it like it was words spoken from the mouth.

She backed out of the room to leave him to his gun. And felt the briefest victory.

Later on, she found Bane in their apartment, lying on his side on the bed with his eyes closed, his clothes gone. She knew he was exhausted from the earlier mishaps, feeling the draining effects now of having been without the mask, if only for a short period of time with nothing to sustain him. Camille undressed and padded over to him, climbing into the bed next to him and watching his face.

Maybe it didn't mean anything to Barsad that she had come to him with her apologies. And maybe nothing would come of it at all. But like everything else she did because there was no other way for her, it was all for the man next to her. This man who had given her the mask that eased back his chronic pain so that she could live.

Bane slowly opened his eyes, saw her watching him. He knew this face of hers, this face that told him she needed something from him. Something so simple, but so great.

Camille shifted underneath the covers, scooted closer to him. "Hold me," she murmured. And when Bane reached for her, trying to turn her around so that he could spoon her, she shook her head. "No," she whispered, wrapping her arms around his neck so that she could face him. "Like this."

Bane closed his eyes again and sighed deeply, sinking into her, into her body and her scent, the feel of her enough to chase away whatever nightmare would linger on the surface of sleep. And somehow, when Camille scooted up a little so that he could rest against her chest, she ended up being the one to hold him.

She wasn't like Talia, Camille told herself again as Bane fell asleep against her, her hand petting his head and back. She would never ask Bane to die for her. She would rather die herself to keep him safe. Being with him and making sure he stayed alive and well was all that mattered in this world now. Talia had not felt that for him. Talia had felt victory in his impending death. Bane's arms wrapped around her waist in sleep, locking her in place against him.

Camille realized then that she'd never known what having a true home was like. But if she had known, she would guess that this right now was very close to the real thing.

* * *

The next evening, as Camille was washing one of Bane's braces because she never saw _him_ doing it, she looked up from her task as the sound of rushing men filled the factory. She'd kept the door to the apartment open, and looked behind her as many of the mercenaries were shouting and running with their weapons. She panicked briefly, fearing that the Joker had found them again and was ransacking this location too. She dropped what she was doing, trying to remember where Bane had told her he'd gone. She had to go get him so they could leave…

But she never heard any gunshots. If the Joker was here and attacking them, then she most certainly would have heard gunshots. Picking up the hem of her black skirt, she walked out of the apartment to see what exactly was going on.

Some of the men were still shouting. She saw Barsad stomping over to the group of men gathered by the entrance, watched him shove the others aside and enter the middle of the gathering. She heard him shout this time, something that sounded like a harsh question. And in the midst of his shouting, she heard the tiniest of voices from the group. Camille drew her brows together in confusion, and could have sworn she heard the soft murmur of a woman.

The crowd began to part. And Camille's suspicions were confirmed as she saw two of the men holding a woman by each arm, pulling her along as she stumbled from the tall heels on her feet.

She was a pretty young girl, possibly no older than twenty-four. Her hair was blonde and very straight, the ends stopping at her chin in an angled bob. Her brown eyes were wide and surprised, confusing Camille a little further when she didn't see too much terror in them. Camille looked down at her clothing, saw that a long white jacket was the only thing keeping her warm. The clothes underneath barely covered her trim, curvy young body, a body she no doubt enjoyed showing off. Camille glanced at the shoes again that went with the skimpy outfit, and had a good guess as to what kind of work this young woman did.

The girl hissed out a sound of discomfort as her arms were yanked behind her back, the heels making her almost as tall as the mercenaries holding her. She was about to yell at them, but shut her mouth quickly as Barsad stepped directly in front of her.

"I will ask you one last time. How did you find this place?"

"I followed you here the other night. Look, I just came to give someone a letter. What's all the fuss about? Are you guys like… army people or something?"

Camille watched from a distance. Apparently this woman only thrived on her pretty looks. There obviously wasn't much going on in the head.

Barsad ignored her because he didn't really know how to answer her question. "The penalty for trespassing is death."

She shook her head, the ends of her blonde hair whooshing about. "I wasn't trespassing. I'm just a delivery girl. I didn't think it would be such a big deal. My boss told me to bring something to someone named Camille. Is there a Camille here?" The blonde looked around at all the gruff looking men, grimaced a little. "I'm guessing not. Unless she's, you know… one of those butch girls or something."

Barsad blinked. He decided that he wasn't going to have much patience with this one. But he was saved from dealing with her when he heard the hissing of Bane's mask behind him. Barsad stepped aside, and finally he saw fear creeping into the girl's big brown eyes.

Bane looked her up and down, wasn't sure if he should be impressed by her courage to come here, or annoyed that this obviously daft young woman had found his home. He watched her swallow unsurely and sink back a little. Whatever he felt, curiosity was overtaking everything else. "You have something for someone?" he asked her, and watched her eyes widen in surprise at the sound of his mechanical voice.

"Uh… yeah. Someone named Camille. Camille Lane. My boss asked me to deliver a letter to her. Look, I wasn't trespassing. I thought it would be okay to come in. There was… a door and everything. I knocked. I was being polite."

Bane stared at her before he slowly smiled and chuckled. How cute she was. "Of course you were. Give the letter to me."

She shook her head. "I'm sorry, but it's addressed to Camille. My mother taught me you _never_ read other people's mail. It's not courteous."

Bane raised his brows. He was a good judge of character. And this little girl now was absolutely no threat at all. In fact, she was amusing him. "Is that so? Well, we mustn't go against your mother's rules." Bane looked over to where he knew Camille was standing, and nodded at her. "Come, Camille. You have a visitor."

She'd never seen this girl in her life. And Camille had never had a woman friend before, so who could she possibly be talking about? There had been too much work to do and a divorce to go through to have any kind of social life. But because she, too, was curious, Camille walked up to Bane and looked the girl in the eye. She smiled at Camille, one that was genuine and oddly happy.

"Oh wow, you're not a butch. I like your lipstick. I could never pull off red. You need eyebrows for red, and mine are so light you can barely see them."

Camille looked up to Bane, and knew he was smirking under his mask. The other mercenaries either looked annoyed, or were trying to catch a glimpse of the skimpy outfit underneath the girl's white coat. Apparently some of them thought it nice to have another woman around who wasn't Bane's. "What's your name?" she asked.

"Daisy. Do you think you could have these guys let me go? If my arms get hurt I'm out of a job. I need them."

Camille waited for Bane to signal to his men to lessen their hold on her before she spoke again. "What do you do? You said your boss sent you."

And then, hearing her own words, Camille felt her chest cave and her heart stop. The last person who had said they'd been sent by the one they worked for had tried to kill her. And the boss had been her own mother. Camille took a small step back against Bane, suddenly wishing she didn't have to talk to this girl and that he could take care of it like the last time. She felt his hand on the small of her back, keeping her in place.

He knew what she was thinking. But he had a feeling the messenger had been sent by someone else.

"I'm a dancer," Daisy replied, not caring at all about telling a group of ruthless mercenaries that fact. "I work at a gentlemen's club. Rose Red, in Old Town. My boss told me she knows you, that you once helped her out."

Camille let out a sigh of relief. Not her mother again, but another woman from the past. Her past as a psychiatrist, and nothing else. Her very last patient from Arkham Asylum, and the only person she'd talked to that told her she needed to return to Bane. Camille remembered the woman well, the beautiful woman with the long red hair that had been there the night Bane had kidnapped her.

The stripper who had been committed because of her unhealthy habit of poisoning men.

Apparently, she hadn't forgotten Camille either.

"Ms. Isley told you to come here?"

Daisy nodded, hesitantly pulling her arms from the mercenaries hold altogether so that she could rub them. Her arms had to hold her weight when she danced. She needed them to remain strong. "She… doesn't really go by that name. She likes her stage name better. Anyway, she owns Rose Red now. I know the police are looking for her but she takes good care of us, especially me and Lily and Dahlia. A lot of the other Flowers too. That's what she calls her dancers. Flowers. Once she knew you were back in town she wanted me to find you so that I could give you a letter. She said you would have…" Daisy cast a timid glance up at Bane, gulped. "Protection. But once you knew who sent me, you wouldn't hurt me. I didn't mean to cause such a ruckus. Honestly, I didn't. I was just doing what she told me to do."

Camille's weary gaze suddenly softened for this little Daisy. She wondered briefly what happened to her to cause her to make a decision to become one of her former patient's strippers, but knew that some decisions, especially of this kind, were a way of escape. Daisy told them that they were being taken care of. And if this little flower felt so much loyalty to come _here_, then she would believe it to be true. Camille held out her hand, waited for the girl to dig into the pocket of her white coat to fish out the folded letter and place it in her palm carefully. "You mentioned she takes care of you?"

Daisy responded with a big smile. "Oh yes. She always says she loves her Flowers. She's very motherly. Some of the other girls don't have mothers, you know?"

Oh yes, Camille thought, thinking of her own. She knew that very well. "Thank you for your service, Daisy."

"No problem." She waved at Camille's back dumbly as the other woman sauntered off, leaving her alone with the huge guy with the mask that she suddenly remembered was always on TV. She fiddled with her fingers nervously. "Um… Your friend said there was a penalty for coming here. I'm really sorry. If I could just go on home…"

"The penalty for trespassing is death," Bane repeated lowly, and watched as the girl winced from the last word. "But if you remain silent of our location, you may continue to live this night. The alternative, and by that I mean informing another living soul as to where I am, will result in me hunting you down. Do I make myself clear, Miss Daisy?"

She nodded vigorously. "Crystal clear. Zip it up and throw away the key… and all that…"

"Good," Bane responded cheerfully, waving a hand to send her on her way. "Cover yourself more efficiently, little flower. You wouldn't want to wilt in the cold." Bane walked off in search of Camille and her letter, hearing Daisy's voice behind him.

"Do you think I could catch a ride back with one of you guys?"

Bane found her in the apartment, her head bowed as she read the letter she'd been given. He remembered from the Asylum the woman who had sent it, although he never spoke with her face to face. He would catch her watching him at times from down the hallway in her humid looking cell, smiling at him with her wide bare mouth and her dazzling green eyes. He had watched her too at times, when there'd been nothing else to do except wait for his doctor to return to him. Bane had been aware that Camille had taken on another patient after him, that very woman. But he didn't know that they'd made an odd sort of impression on each other. He walked over to the table, sat in one of the chairs as he waited for Camille to tell him the news.

Camille read the letter for the third time, taking in each word one by one. Her former patient wanted her to pay a visit to her establishment, said that she had something she wanted to give her. At first Camille decided that there would be no way she would leave to go see a mass murderer. But then she remembered her own life, and the part she played now that things had changed. And what if her beautiful patient needed her? No matter what she was now, Camille had taken an oath to help those who were given to her. She glanced over at Bane who was still watching her, felt that curiosity peak again.

"Would you like to go to the strip club with me?" she asked him.

He smiled and nodded. "Absolutely."

* * *

In a deep part of Old Town, the club Rose Red looked like a nothing hole-in-the-wall heap on the corner of the highway. It had used to be a shady business under the previous ownership, but now Camille's former patient had claim to it, and had most likely transformed it, as well. She remembered from her patient's file that Rose Red had even been entertaining dirty cops, ones that would expect special services to keep them in business. And, oddly enough, there hadn't been any reports of a fatal poisoning in a couple of months. Camille wondered what her patient was doing with her time now that she was a business owner. And how she had escaped the police for this long ever since her apparent breakout out of Arkham.

She also wondered, more than the other matters, what exactly she wanted to give her.

Bane had taken her himself, just the two of them on one of the bikes they kept for quick journey's such as this one. Camille wasn't allowed to leave on her own anymore, especially when meeting convicted and once incarcerated felons. And, she knew, that she hadn't wanted to go without him. She would be entering a different turf, one she didn't know well, and needed him by her side. He hadn't been there the last time she'd seen the woman.

But, in a strange way, this woman had had a helping hand in reuniting them.

Neither of them had changed for the meeting. Camille had kept her long black skirt on, along with a black strapless top with a sweetheart neckline. Bane was perfectly comfortable in a tight dark shirt and cargo pants, flexible enough for him to move if he needed to even with the braces on outside his clothing. Camille fixed her skirt after she hopped off the bike he'd parked in a nearby alley, removing her jacket and setting it on the seat.

"It is too cold out here for you," Bane commented.

"I have a feeling it's going to be hot in there."

They entered the club, and she'd been right.

The décor of the inside of Rose Red was actually very nice, as strip clubs went. Everything seemed clean and tidy, the dark, forest green tiles of the floor sparkling in the hazy red light of the big room, the air humid and almost soggy. The stage was nothing but a catwalk, similar to those in fashion shows, with various men around the edges as the strippers who were called Flowers filled their needs to the sultry music vibrating from the speakers. Other tables with a few chairs were scattered along the rest of the joint, both men and women discussing topics with each other as they drank the best drinks in Old Town. Camille saw that all the Flowers were very beautiful, but knew they were nothing compared to their boss. She looked back at Bane, who seemed unworried that there could be cops here with them. Oddly enough, no one was paying him any attention.

There were other things to look at.

"Hey, we showed up at the same time. Isn't that funny?"

Bane and Camille glanced at Daisy, who was approaching them with a smile. With her white coat now shed for work, they both looked at her lingerie in pale blue. She looked like a blonde pixie, ready to cause mischief. Ready to make some serious cash.

"Don't worry about any cops seeing you. I can spot a cop a mile away in the dark. No one showed up tonight. And the red lighting adds a hint of mystery to the other guests as to who exactly is here. Come on, I'll get you the best seat in the house."

And because they didn't know what else to do, Bane and Camille followed Daisy to two plush chairs seated right at the edge of the catwalk.

"These seats are for the big tippers, but she'll have no problem with you taking them for a little while. I'll go let her know you're here. Have fun," she told them happily before hopping on the stage, and walking to the back where a door most likely led to a dressing room.

Camille watched her go, tried to remind herself why exactly she was here. "I've never been to a strip club in my life."

"Neither have I," Bane responded, knowing that his own men had been frequent visitors to such places during the revolution.

The lights then dimmed, the music growing louder but somehow more erotic. Bane and Camille watched a dark silhouette take the stage, and suddenly begin to move in ways that grabbed everyone's attention. The body twirled down the catwalk, long hair flowing around her back, long legs lifting and beckoning seductively. Camille was not into women, but even she couldn't look away, the sight drawing her in along with the others. And when that body danced closer, when she was suddenly right in front of them, Camille knew that this was the woman they'd come to see.

Pamela Isley crotched down on the catwalk at the edge, the lights brightening in the red glow as she smiled at her visitors.

"Hello, darling. So glad you could make it. I hope the place wasn't hard to find."

Terribly beautiful. They were the only words Camille would ever use to describe her. Her long red hair cascaded down her back in luscious waves like fire, right against her creamy skin that glistened from the slightest of perspiration from the humidity in the air. On her curvy and luring body was a tight tube-top dress in a dark green to match her eyes, cut low in the front to show off the cleavage of her perky breasts. Ever so sleek and slick, the new owner of Rose Red handled the authority well.

She preferred it that way.

"Hello, Pamela."

Pamela smiled at her even as she ignored the use of her real name, and noticed all the changes that had been made to her once so very sad doctor. Then she looked over to Bane, the cause of that sadness because she hadn't been with him, and sent him a different smile. Her fellow inmate. Her very _well-built_ fellow inmate. She turned to him, tilted her head some and held his gaze, his gaze with piercing green eyes that almost matched her own. She remembered him from the asylum, wished that in another time, she could see what lied underneath his composed veneer. The man who took over Gotham. The man who had caused so much lovely damage.

It was very arousing indeed.

"So we finally meet in the real world," she murmured, a voice full of husky silk. "It's a pleasure to meet you, great Bane. It seems my doctor abandoned me in favor of you. But I can see why."

The air was humid, but in various corners near the stage were scattered fans, the wind from them there to blow the hair of the stripper's over their bodies for a more erotic experience. One blew now at Pamela's back, sending her scent straight to Bane and right through the tubing of the mask. His mask may have helped him concerning deadly chemicals, but it seemed weaker against the smell of an alluring female. He blew out a breath through his nose, blinked his eyes as that scent travelled through his system. But he found he could only stare up into those emerald eyes, that smirking gorgeous face that was always thinking, always planning.

Annoyed now, Camille suddenly blocked his view and leaned onto his lap, breaking their gazes. She knew of Pamela's effect on men. And wouldn't sit here as Bane tried to fight it off. "Would you like to tell me why you asked me here? Because right now I'm thinking it was a wasted trip."

Pamela laughed softly and held out her hand. "Come with me to the back. I'll give you your present and you can be on your merry way."

"No," Bane murmured behind her, bowing his head and shaking it a little to try and clear it. With Camille now practically in his lap, he suddenly found he couldn't help but lift his hand to touch her black curls, petting them softly even as he made an order. "You are not to be alone with her."

Camille turned around to look at him, placed her hand underneath his chin so that he would meet her eyes. She could defend herself if she needed to, and Bane would be right here if she needed to call for him. She also didn't want to leave him out here too long by himself. She looked into his eyes, saw that they were a little glazed. "Are you okay?" she whispered to him.

He nodded, moved his hand underneath her hair and onto the back of her bare neck, gliding his fingers along her skin.

Camille lifted a brow at his touch. "I'll be fine, okay? And quick. I'll call for you if I need you."

Bane felt the giant urge to tell her _he_ needed _her_ for other reasons, but decided to refrain from that since the other woman was watching them. He could wait a few minutes, he decided. And he needed to find… composure, all of a sudden.

"Take in the scenery, daddy," Pamela teased him as she stood up and outstretched her hand again. "Just a bit of girl talk. I'll have her home shortly."

Camille stared at the offering for a moment or two before reaching up to take her hand. She was then pulled onto the stage, suddenly caught in a spin as Pamela twirled her like a dance partner, her skirt billowing around her. She tossed one last glance back at Bane as she was pulled down the catwalk, saw that he looked rather… uncomfortable.

She wouldn't be long. She knew she needed to get back to him as soon as possible.

Pamela pulled her to the door in the back and into a good sized dressing room. Mirrors were along the walls for touch-up's and applications, big light bulbs along the top and sides for illumination. Various articles of lingerie were tossed along the vanities and floor, makeup scattered along with hair brushes and pantyhose here and there. Her patient sighed gracefully as she took over the room with her presence, stretching her arms above her head. She looked at Camille, smiled again approvingly.

"Look at you. Look at that new strong body. You've come a long way from your separation anxiety, I must say. I told you you belonged to him. I'm usually right."

"And your doctor is very proud of you," she answered dryly. "How did you get out of Arkham?"

Pamela faced the mirror, inspected her appearance with great precision. "One of the reasons I asked you here tonight, love. Our first and last therapy session was the moment I'd been waiting so patiently for. After you stormed out with those hearts in your sad eyes I… snuck away." She'd had to kill two guards along the way. But that meant nothing to her at all. "If it hadn't been for you neglecting to call for security to take me back to my cell, I couldn't have done it. So I felt the need to thank you."

"What did you do to Bane out there?"

Pamela lifted one shaped red brow, smacked her red lips after applying a gloss. She shrugged innocently. As innocently as a snake. "Why, nothing, dearest. I wouldn't _dream_ of bringing harm to your man. In fact, because of your unknowing help in my escape, I've prepared for you a gift concerning him." She opened one of the drawers of the vanity, pulled out two small tools that clinked together as she held them. With a stretch of her arm she opened her hand, and showed Camille her gift.

Two small syringes about two inches in length rested on her palm, filled with a transparent golden liquid capped off at the needles. Camille stared blankly at them, made no move to take them.

"What the hell is that?"

"A solution, darling. Although a temporary solution. Believe it or not, in my previous life I was an outstanding student. I know a thing or two about chemistry, preferably the organic type of chemistry. These are pain blockers. I've created them for you so that you may give them to your man. This injection will give him a good three hours without the use of his mask. But unfortunately, this is a one-time thing. I'm afraid one of the plants I've used to create this is now extinct. No matter how hard I try to bring it back."

After a few moments, Camille finally looked up at her, a little surprised that she was seen as so stupid. Pamela actually looked a little shocked that she wouldn't take them. But Camille was no fool. The facts of this woman were simply the facts. "You've fatally poisoned men and you expect me to inject Bane with some fancy looking needle you spent so much time making for him? I'm afraid I'll have to decline."

Pamela scoffed, lifting one creamy shoulder. "Oh please, love. If I wanted Bane dead I'm sure I would have found a way already. I give you my word, as your patient, that no harm will come to him. What I've used to make this injection is completely from the earth. And if you're so concerned, you yourself can even use one to prove my honesty. Bane's pain receptors are flying all over the place like whores on speed. This solution will simply calm them down completely for an allotted amount of time. And since your receptors are _not_ debilitated, this will have absolutely no effect on you. Test them yourself when you go home if you don't believe me."

Camille stared at the syringes again, thought of the possibility that Bane could be without his mask, without morphine for a few hours. But this woman was still a murderer, no matter what she said. And Camille would most definitely test them multiple times before they got anywhere near Bane. If she could find a way to give him that time, if she knew with absolute certainty that this did what her patient said it would, then why not at least see what was in it? But… she still had concerns. "How do you know about Bane's condition?"

Pamela smiled. "A lot of us know of it. He was quite the topic of conversation in the asylum after the revolution."

"Why do you poison men?" Camille shook her head as her patient made a face of impatience. "You want me to take needles to give to him because you feel generous and appreciative. I want to know why so that I can determine if Bane really is out of your line of sight."

"I've told you this," she muttered, starting to feel a little silly that her generosity wasn't being received very well. "They're just rats out there. Feasting their beady eyes on a pretty face and an attractive body on display. I poison the ones who deserve it. I watch them choke, using their own desires against them. Like a trap." Pamela curled her fingers, keeping the needles in her palm because Camille had yet to take them. One corner of her red mouth lifted as she remembered all the squirmy rats within her traps. "Men are such simple creatures, aren't they? With men, it all comes down to sex. However they dress it up, a man's primary goal is usually to stuff his cock inside you. And yet, they're too stupid to know that once they do, they give you all the power."

Camille didn't know much about men when it came to personal experience. And because she knew this woman, because she'd once cared for her like she'd cared for Bane in her work, she listened carefully, wondered if she was the only one to hear these words from her mouth. Maybe this woman needed someone like her. Maybe all she needed was the right shoulder to cry on. She wouldn't know what had happened to Pamela to cause her to think that way. But how could it be anything else besides the truth? With her patient, it _was_ the truth of the world she inhabited. "Sometimes it works the other way around," Camille replied, remembering someone who believed a false truth of life. "Have you met Harleen Quinzel?"

She watched as Pamela's lovely playful face slowly fell into a frown. She looked down at her hands, sighed softly. Camille stared at her face, so full of sudden sadness and… regret, and knew that the two women had met before. Maybe Pamela had once tried to help Harley as she battled between her sanity and love. Maybe she'd known her before she fell victim to the Joker's mind games. Whichever reason it was, her patient had not been able to save Harley. And maybe, when it came to her _Flowers_, Pamela was just trying to fill a motherly void.

"Good wombs hath born bad sons," Pamela murmured softly, remembering the nights of blood she'd had to clean, broken bones she'd had to set for her friend. But she wasn't her friend anymore. Her friend was lost to love for a man.

Camille suddenly wanted to get back to Bane. She wanted to leave this place and this woman. "Poisoning men feeds some need inside you."

Pamela regained herself, her gorgeous amusement back in her eyes. The past forgotten, just as it had to be. "And helping a woman I happen to like feeds that same need. Are you going to tell me that you don't wish to kiss your man for more than three and a half whole minutes? That would make you a liar, darling."

Camille looked down at the offering again. She could test them, and she would take one herself. Just to be sure. And Bane could go without the mask or other drugs for a little bit more time. Almost hesitantly, Camille took the syringes, tucked them away in the holster around her hips. Now she could leave. Now she could get back to Bane.

"You'll come to find I'm telling the truth, Dr. Lane. I have no reason to poison him. And please know that you and your man are welcome here at Rose Red anytime."

"I'm sure we won't be seeing each other again, Pamela. But thank you anyway."

"Well," she scoffed with a smirk, took a step closer. "Let me kiss you goodbye then." She leaned forward, pecked Camille on the cheek.

Camille flinched back as the overpowering wave of her scent consumed her, made her feel hazy. She shook her head some, felt her skin begin to sizzle, the rest of her turning to heat. She took a step back away from Pamela and her smiling face, suddenly desperate to leave this room. Her mind briefly felt like mush, her body wanting something she overwhelmingly needed. Camille looked around for an exit, anything to get out of here.

Pamela watched her, pure enjoyment radiating from her. She pointed back to the way they'd come in. "Exit's that way, love."

Camille looked at the entrance to the stage, felt her vision fizzling like static. Suddenly she was on the catwalk, others looking at her and wondering why she was wearing so much clothing. She could feel the music thumping underneath her heeled boots, looked all the way down at the end to Bane. He sat perfectly still, watching some of the other girls dance because there was nothing else to do as he waited for her. She felt too hot. She felt too confined.

She felt extremely hungry for him.

And remembering his face after Pamela had knocked him with her desiring scent, she knew he was feeling the exact same way.

It felt as though she were moving in slow motion, through warm water that boiled around her. She watched him stand as she neared him down the stage, her heart beating hard and high in her chest. And once she got to him, she leaned down, put her hands on Bane's shoulders. His gripped her waist and brought her to the floor, holding her against him because waiting for her to return had been torture from the way he'd been feeling. Whatever her friend Pamela had done to him, he was craving his woman's body more than air to breathe.

"Camille…"

He pulled her tighter against him, letting her feel the hard swell of his arousal because he needed her _now_. Camille felt him against her stomach, cursed Pamela for doing this to them in public. Apparently her kindness would not come without forced desire. Bane was running his mask against her hair, his hand gripping her skirt, desperately wanting to pull it up and not caring at all about who would be watching. There was no escape from this desire. And he would get his fill. Camille looked back at the stage, saw Pamela causally leaning against the wall and smirking at her in a knowing gesture.

How dare she do this to them? Camille thought as she searched around the club, past the dancers, past the gawkers. But God, she needed him.

Finally she spotted a solution, the door marked _Office_ that was no doubt Pamela's own room for business. Camille took Bane's hand, pulled him to it and got him inside. She sent a mean glare to Pamela, telling her that she would play her little games. In her own office. Camille slammed the door, locked it tight.

Pamela shook her head as she stepped back into the spotlight. "Desires of the flesh," she murmured.

Her hips swayed as she spotted her client, looking down at him as he sat at the edge of the catwalk. She placed one hand on her hip, jutting it out seductively as he stared up at her like a kid in a candy store. Daisy was wrong, she thought as she crotched down to him, giving him a wonderful view of her body. She couldn't always spot a cop. And this one had been sneaking his way in, hoping to get free services, telling her Flowers that he would haul them off to jail if they didn't submit. But he would submit to her now. He would give her all that lovely power.

He was weak against her.

"Hello there, handsome," she cooed, seeing him react to her scent. She would enjoy watching him writhe for her. She would enjoy watching him die slowly as her poison ate at his insides. "Would you like a kiss?"

* * *

As soon as she locked the door he attacked her, pouncing on her like an animal in heat, instantly grabbing her breasts as he slammed her against the wall of Pamela's office. They were already panting, already aching, dying from sensation as they were completely consumed with lust that had been forced upon them. But that didn't matter right now. Nothing else mattered besides the feel of skin, the moan from a mouth, and the desperation for release.

"You were gone for too long," Bane growled against her, squeezing her breasts hard, trying to gather more flesh so that he could touch more of her. "If you were absent a minute longer I would have dragged you off and taken you while she watched."

Camille shuddered, felt ecstasy in knowing that she didn't have to crave the brutality of him, but that she was receiving it now. His voice felt like tremors through her body, his touch like a drug she couldn't live without. Maybe her mind was leaving her in favor of arousal, but she didn't care. The world no longer mattered. Camille yanked the hem of his shirt out of his back brace, slid her hands up his stomach underneath to rake her nails down his skin. She should have felt crushed between the wall and his massive, heavy body. Instead, she locked her mouth onto any part of his skin she could reach; his neck, his collar, his shoulder.

"You taste so good," she whispered to him, bit him on the rock hard muscle where his neck and shoulder met as he began to lift her from the floor. "Why do you taste so good?"

Bane growled at her again once he felt her teeth, shoved her skirt up and out of the way. Camille suddenly became like a spider, using all her limbs to hold herself up against him as he yanked her panties down her legs, feeling the dampness already there that was her ache for him. He was so hard he couldn't think, so hard he could barely breathe. The pants on him now were the worst thing he'd ever felt, a barrier between him and what he desperately wanted. His cock throbbed in his pants, but he became too impatient. Never feeling this way before, Bane settled right then for leaning flush against her so that she could feel him at her core, hot and heavy and hard.

Camille moaned and hooked one arm around his neck as he began to rut against her. She held her eyes closed in concentration as she maneuvered the other hand between them, finding it difficult to do much of anything besides pressing her own sex against him as well. She unbuttoned and unzipped his pants, wondered if he even knew what she was doing as he continued to rub himself on her, and opened everything enough so that the barrier wasn't as thick. And when she felt him even more, that great length pressing against her, she became even more overwhelmed.

"You're so hard," she breathed against him, gasping when he reeled his hips back and snapped them on her. Bane then took one of her legs, lifted it and draped it over his shoulder to spread her. A feral sound escaped his mask, matching her own. "Inside me. I want you inside me please, Bane…"

Bane went to pick her up and lay her down on the desk inside the office, but she had something else in mind. She squirmed out of his grasping arms, pushed at him until his back hit the surface of the desk. She tugged on his pants just enough to free his erection, knew that each of them would settle for only being as naked as they had to be.

Bane leaned up on one elbow and took her curls into his fist. He stared at her with glazed green eyes full of longing, his voice raspy and making her shiver. "Let me have your mouth, Camille."

She felt breathless, she felt dazed. But she gave him what he wanted. She leaned over, licked the glistening tip of him and caused him to purr like a tiger, his hands petting her as she sunk down and tried to take as much of him into her mouth as she could. He watched her very carefully, every inch, every movement of her pretty face as she tasted him, pleasured him in a way he'd rarely felt before her. She looked into his eyes as she made those soft sucking sounds that drove him crazy, made him feel dizzy. Made him feel like he were dying for her as his cock glistened from her saliva.

His mind was leaving him. But maybe it had been gone ever since he saw her heading towards him from the stage.

Maybe he'd become lost the first moment he saw her.

"How could you do this to me?" he asked her huskily, something between a low rasp and a whisper. He'd never known the light, but maybe she'd brought a little ray with her the very first time she'd walked through the door back in the asylum. It overwhelmed him, infuriated him. He grabbed her underneath her arms as she slid her mouth away, pulled her on top of him. "What have you done to me…my darling Camille…"

The same thing you've done to me, she answered in thought, and took him inside her with as much desperation as ever. Instantly she began to ride him, and instantly she became just as lost.

It was like feeding a hunger that was never, ever quite sated. She felt it from him as he gripped her waist, the edge of that violent appetite he so often masked in composure and eloquence and patience. When she tasted it, it made her crave the primitive, made her lust for the danger of letting the animal inside them both spring loose to feed.

Bane pulled down her strapless top, felt the same impatience with her bra as he pulled that down, too. He couldn't be bothered by the small bandage on her side, could only see the powerful vision of her as she satisfied them. He moaned against the wet tightness of her, the rolls of her hips as the desk creaked underneath his back.

With her, he realized, he could be tender, where there had never been tenderness. And with her he could be brutal, without fear.

"I need you, Camille," he rasped, overcome by the rush of the emotional and the physical, the slap of flesh on flesh. "Even when you're gone I still need you… in a thousand ways."

Camille squealed breathlessly as she squeezed her eyes shut. She wasn't used to this from him. But maybe a part of her needed it. Without him she would be dead. Without him there was no Camille. She rode him as hard she could then, moaning loudly as he lifted his hips to slam into her as well, bouncing her on top of him with the force of his strength. The desk creaked again underneath them, much louder this time, and bucked, breaking and sinking as wood snapped and splintered.

Their minds were gone, but in the distance she could hear his voice continuing to talk to her. Their hips met in brutal slaps, his hard cock stretching her and her tight entrance gripping him. But she could still hear him. Not the language she spoke, but the flowing melody of Arabic, Bane speaking Arabic to her as they took each other. She caught one word he was calling her, held onto it as she came, as she milked his orgasm from him with a muffled roar deep within his chest.

_Habibati._

She knew that word. They panted harshly as the desk became useless, as she leaned down so he could run his fingers into her hair. Camille nuzzled his neck with her lips, the scent of him so familiar, so comforting. She knew that word.

_Beloved._

* * *

The evening before the crash, Bane and Camille composed themselves, left the office of Pamela Isley a wreck for toying with them. Neither of them spoke about the words that had been said, only focusing on fixing their clothing and leaving before any unfortunate confrontation happened. Bane had had to bend down to her so that she could rub the smears of her red lipstick from his skin, the marks she'd placed on him in her desire. She gave him a smile, kissed his mask, and let him lead her from the club Rose Red for good.

That evening holding him in bed was when she told him of the syringes she'd been given. In the time of passion he'd completely forgotten that the whole reason why they'd went there in the first place was so that her former patient could give her a gift of some sort. He listened quietly, didn't comment until she was finished.

"It is impossible," he murmured against her chest, as her fingers trailed up the scar on his spine while his own prodded the developing one at her side. "Nothing can help me. I won't be taking them."

Camille didn't expect him to. At least, not now. Maybe after she tested them they could revisit the issue, when she knew for certain that Bane would be safe if he were to agree. And the entire next day, she did test them.

That next evening, Bane, Camille, Barsad, and a couple others were in one of the trucks as they made routine patrols. Barsad wanted Bane to see exactly what was happening within the city as the Joker continued to cause mayhem, destroying buildings one at a time because he loved the sight of chaos. They also drove by some of the mob's supposed partners, small establishments or homes that were questionable in the eyes of the police, and their own.

The night of the crash, Camille had just gone along for the ride. Bane was in the passenger seat, Barsad next to her in the back, both of them surprisingly finding that balance instead of bickering. Everything had been fine. It was supposed to just be a regular night, nothing more or less.

Camille didn't know what made her glance over to the left. But she knew what was coming as she saw the brilliant beams of headlights right before the slam of another truck plowed right into them.

There'd been no time to make a sound, no time to swerve out of the way as the driver was killed on impact. Glass exploded, metal caved as the truck was flipped onto its roof, as that glass split skin, and jumbled minds. Camille moaned as she placed her hands on the roof of the truck, the roof that was now the floor, and tried lifting herself, trying to see and remember the milliseconds in time before they'd been hit. She felt like she was bleeding somewhere, and tried to move her limbs to make sure nothing was broken. With a small gasp she searched through the wreckage, trying to spot Bane through blurred vision and failing to find him. Barsad next to her was shifting, not as badly injured as the others since he'd been on the opposite side. She was just about to say something to him, maybe to ask if he was okay. Maybe to ask if he knew if Bane was okay. But she was given no time to speak.

Hard, gripping hands reached into the smashed window of the truck and took her ankles, yanking on her over the broken pieces of glass, vehicle, and blood from the driver who'd gotten the worst of the hit. Camille squealed, trying to grab something, her nails digging into anything to keep her from being taken. Voices from outside cursed her, pulled harder. Panic gripped her, causing her to squeal again as she tried kicking out. She looked over desperately at Barsad, saw his face turned away from her. More men joined in the pulling.

Her strength was no match for theirs.

Camille shouted as she was yanked from the truck, yelled, kicked, and screamed as multiple hands grabbed her and confined her. They drug her away, her heels batting at the asphalt and her hands smacking at whatever body part she could find.

"Stop squirming, bitch," one man snarled at her, forcefully yanking her and trying to keep her quiet. "Shut the fuck up."

"He's moving, he's moving," another panicked, trying to move faster but finding it impossible at her struggling. He kept his eyes glued onto the flipped truck. "Christ, he's getting out. He's gonna kill us. Hurry."

The passenger side door suddenly flew off the hinges from a vicious kick by one powerful leg. The others tried to hurry to their own waiting truck as Bane forced his way out of the wreckage, focusing only on the sounds of Camille continuing to shout and fight, and the vision of the men he would slaughter for trying to take her. With an angry glare, with his mask hissing violently, Bane took big, long strides as he approached the group of men trying to subdue his woman, the group who were now yelling themselves to hit the gas as soon as they got her in before Bane could reach them. They shoved a kicking and screaming Camille into the backseat, the engine roaring just as Bane reached out.

He grabbed the bumper of the car to keep it from zooming off.

The tires squealed loud, smoke billowing underneath them. The driver hit the gas again harder this time.

And the bumper broke off into Bane's hands.

He stood there and watched with wide eyes as the men drove away with Camille. And he had no way of following her then. His vehicle was totaled, his own men injured. Blood trickled down his arm from the glass but he didn't feel it. He couldn't feel anything but rage. Whoever they were, they'd taken her.

They had taken Camille from him.

* * *

"Let me go, you son of a bitch! _Let me go!_"

"Quiet," one of her captors scolded, shaking her hard as they dragged her into what looked like a warehouse in one of the more quiet areas of Gotham. "Jesus, you'd think she'd stop by now. I said shut up!"

"He'll kill you," she muttered, anger consuming her and gripping her just as the men gripped her. "He's going to kill every last one of you."

"Yeah, yeah. The boss wants to see you. Zip the lip and be quiet, lady."

One man opened the door to the warehouse. Inside, it almost looked like a party, everyone so lusciously dressed and deep in conversation with a smile. Camille didn't know who the others were, but she spotted a few men she'd seen before. Men she knew who were cronies of the Italian Mob. Camille tried to yank herself free again as her boots stumbled underneath her, if only so that she could fight until she couldn't anymore. But then an even familiar face stopped her. The disgruntled face of Tony Zucco with his black eye and still slightly swollen lip from her own hands. Dressed in a tux, he spotted her staring at him, gave an acknowledging nod.

"I knew I recognized you from somewhere, Miss America," he said.

Camille drew her brows together, then let out a whooshed breath as she was pushed to her knees. Tony Zucco had been believed to be the head of the mob. But Camille herself had found out otherwise. He was nothing but a game the real one played with the city and the police.

Apparently she would meet the real boss tonight. She glared at the floor, tried to think of some way she could escape and get back to Bane. She had experience in being kidnapped. Maybe this time she could actually succeed in escaping.

The room went silent as the soft sound of another pair of heels clicked along the floor. A long pink dress wisped behind the sound as they grew closer. In her temper, Camille was just about to tell this boss off.

And then a certain smell came to her nose. She knew that smell. Everything inside her stilled, her blood going to ice and her heart ceasing to thump. That scent… the scent of her childhood. The scent that would linger in her bedroom even long after the body it clung to left her all alone.

"Don't be so rough with her, gentlemen."

The voice had a hint of Italy still within it, soft and cool like a flowing stream. Seductive and convincing just as it had always been. But she knew that voice could change. She had heard the abuse in that voice many, many times before.

Camille slowly looked up, her chin beginning to tremble as she stared at her mother's lovely face.

Alcina Angeli smiled down at her daughter.

"Mommy's missed you, baby girl."

**TBC**

**A/N: Sometimes, the past almost kills you, but the future revives you. If your past and your future were to go head to head, who would win for your heart and soul? Long chapter, but very important chapter. Thank you for enduring it, and giving me all those wonderful reviews for the last one. The song for this chapter pretty much sums up Bane and Camille's sex life. It's also the song Camille sang to Bane a couple chapters ago. Thanks again, my loves. Keep the reviews coming. And I hope you all enjoyed the small return of another villain I very much loved writing.**


	17. Too Late

_**Amaranthine **_

**Chapter 17**

**Too Late**

"_Too late, now is too late for a love never remembered, to a mother, dead, a stranger. For a victim of your shadow. Pay your shame now. Cry only for yourself 'cause she does not deserve your tears." – Luca Turilli's Dreamquest _

Normal childhoods were a fantasy, just as normal marriages were. A fantasy that had always been far, far away, off in the distance even farther past the horizon of happiness. There hadn't been chocolate chip cookies to come home to after school. There had never been school plays, or silly games with dolls, cute hairstyles with braids and barrettes. No kisses goodnight, no cuddles and hopes for sweet dreams. Being tucked into bed was a mystery. The words _I love you_ formed a sentence that had never been heard.

All those things might have formed a normal childhood. Camille couldn't know because she'd never had one.

Instead, the years before her marriage had consisted of exhaustion, of neglect, of a twisted realization that maybe her brothers weren't her mother's children, but her own. And she had to take care of them, no matter what the cost. Before she'd left her family for a man, the past had been nothing but a hole. A dark, lonely hole where the only comfort had been blood running down her wrists. And she'd escaped for a little while, only to be temporary brought back when a masked man had kidnapped her.

Now, she felt like she was stuck in the hole again, with no way out.

There had been a time when Camille felt that the world could only function if her mother was happy. She had strived for that happiness, had worked herself to the bone to give her comfort and contentment. Her brothers hadn't needed to do that because they were the children Alcina had wanted. But Camille had been different. Camille had been born a girl.

Alcina had never forgiven her for that, for taking away her spotlight that had made her the only female. All eyes had to be on her. They couldn't rest for a moment on the supposed bundle of joy wrapped in a pink blanket. When Alcina had looked at Camille, she saw nothing but a thief, a dirty thief who would take away her significance within her world. The only solution, in her conniving mind, had been to break down that thief, and turn her into something she could use.

She'd used her daughter up and then she'd disposed of her. Now, her firstborn had been given to her again as a gift.

If Camille thought she could sneak away from her own blood then she wasn't as smart as her education said she was. She had tried to make a life, to make a career. And then she got tangled up with the _monster_. Sleeping with the one person she would hunt for the rest of her life for imprisoning her within her own home. Alcina didn't know exactly how the two felt about each other.

But what she did know was that Camille would never see her monster again.

Eight years, Camille thought as she looked up at her mother. It had been eight years now that hadn't felt like long enough since she'd last seen her, since she'd left her family for marriage, for Jackson who had taken her away from them. And even after all this time, her mother looked exactly the same.

Anyone who saw her would have considered her one of the most beautiful women they'd ever seen. She was full-blood Italian, her coloring and bone structure giving her that exotic appearance that could attract as well as destroy. Alcina was forty-four years old, having gotten pregnant with Camille at only sixteen, and didn't look a day over thirty. With her black curly hair that Camille had inherited still styled in a chic bob, it framed her face nicely, her dark eyes sitting above an impressive pair of high cheekbones. Her body was simply that of a goddess; flowing and curvy like a smooth stream, tall and long, and everything that Camille had never been. Her breasts were full, her shoulders petite, her hips rounded just enough to be seen as utterly desirable.

Suddenly, seeing her again, Camille felt like that awkward late bloomer who could never stand a chance within the light of her perfect mother, shrinking instead into the shadows. She was damaged, she was scarred. And she was once again alone.

"Mother," she whispered, that word so foreign on her tongue, that name one she'd wished never to speak again. "Mother…"

Alcina ignored her, ignored everyone else in the room staring at them. She was used to people staring at her. "My, my… It really is different to see you in person instead of having others follow you around. You've changed since my last update on you." She looked at her daughter's new body, the strong body that apparently had been molded by the monster during their time overseas. She sneered at the change. "I suppose you weren't built the way he wanted you before, were you? Men always find solutions to their problems."

Condescension. It was her mother's primary language. And Camille had never been good enough all her life. She glanced around the room, winced very slightly at all the eyes on her. All eyes from the mob that were here for some kind of meeting, or cordial gathering, dressed to the nines in their tuxes and gowns that matched her mother's pink one. She should've felt inadequate in her own black skirt and cropped top. Looking at them now, she didn't know what to say – her mother did that to her – so she could only utter dumbly, "You run the mob."

Alcina looked at them too, her lackey's and suck-ups. "I do. I rather enjoy the mob. It's such interesting work."

She wanted to look anywhere but at the woman in front of her as she was still held down on her knees. Looking at her made her feel like a child, like a bad girl who hadn't done what she was supposed to do. So she rested her eyes on the flowing end of her pink gown. "How… I don't understand."

"Years in the making, baby girl. You were good to me when you didn't tell daddy about my friends that would stop by. Friends like Carmine Falconi who only wanted…to talk." And Camille had never known that the plan had been set in motion even then, when she'd been a sniveling teenager. "I started there, working my way up from companion and confidante to something a little more intimate. And when Sal Maroni was in that car crash and the others were sent off to jail… Well, I call that my hostile takeover. Now, I own all these people staring at you. I own Gotham City, and have for quite some time."

Camille could remember having to keep quiet about her mother's visitors. Her mother had told her she had no choice, because daddy would only aggravate her if he found out, and send her back to the hospital from anxiety. "Where's my father?"

Alcina lifted a brow with a smile and chuckled a little. "Unfortunately, daddy was not part of the ultimate goal. We Italians have a saying, a popular one. _Sleeping with the fishes. _I'm afraid daddy is just as dead and soggy as the Batman at the bottom of the bay."

Camille frowned. She'd never been close to her father. All that had mattered to him at the end of the day was keeping her mother in line. And hearing this now, hearing that he was no longer living, made her feel just a little bit more alone in the world. Alcina continued after sighing, a loving sigh that was reserved for only four people. The four people Camille had had to mother herself.

"Your brothers are all doing well, I'm happy to say. Angelo is being given a metal for his time in the war, Nicky and Carlo are both married now, and Robbie is coming to stay with me for Christmas this year. They're such good boys. I've never been able to say the same about my daughter. My daughter _left_ me."

Keep your eyes on the floor, she told herself desperately. If you don't look at her she can't affect you. Don't look at her, don't listen to her…

Alcina smiled. She knew when prey was before her, ready to be devoured. It was a skill that had gotten her to where she was today. "After you left me, Camille, things really started to fall into place. I got more contacts, more friends. And it was only a matter of time before I had all the most important people within the mob eating out of the palm of my hand. The trick is, baby girl, you gain power by pretending to be weak. And then, you make others feel so strong. That was what I did. I made them all feel like they could save me. And when that desire consumed them, it _ate_ them. Leaving them as nothing. Now I have all of this." She spread her arms wide, out to the crowd who obeyed her because she was the boss, the security armed and dangerous ready to protect her. And all the deals and money she could ever ask for. "Now I am untouchable. When a woman is rich enough, powerful enough, she is above the common reach of the law."

Camille stayed silent, trying to block her out. Her mother wasn't good for her. She was like an infection. One she couldn't let spread again. But it was hard, so very hard, because with each word she felt like she were being pulled back in time. Back to a dark place where nothing but her mother's demands existed.

"I know what you want to ask me," Alcina continued, resting a fist on her hip. "You're wondering why I bothered keeping track of you even long after you left me. So know this." She crotched down, careful not to ruin her dress as her dark eyes seared into Camille's avoiding, and trembling face. "I _always_ know what's happening to you, Camille. I knew when you got married. I knew when you got the job at that asylum. And I knew when you got kidnapped. How afraid you must have been, hmm? I can imagine you sniffling and shivering as that monster took you away, just like how you used to get when you would hole up in your room cutting yourself."

And then slowly, Camille looked up into her mother's face, the face that seemed almost like her own. She couldn't remember how old she was, feeling only like a young girl all of a sudden. A young girl who had thought her mother had known nothing about her dark moments in her dark room as she sliced a knife along her wrists. That had been for her. That had been her only secret to get her through the days because home had become so horrible. "You knew?" she whispered, hoping her voice didn't sound as shaky as it felt. "You knew what I was doing… and you didn't stop me…"

Alcina scoffed, still treating the subject as an insignificance. "Oh please, Camille. You're my _child_. I gave birth to you. Do you think I never knew what you were up to?"

There was a roaring in her head she knew was fear, adrenaline, and dread. It remained there, dimming her hearing so that it was like sitting in water. "You knew…"

"You thought you were so grown up," Alcina murmured, staring hard into her daughter's eyes that matched her own and letting her know the truth. "So I let you choose. I let you choose between a life spent running from the shadows or a premature death alone in the dark. You chose to run. And you ran all the way to a divorce, and ultimately to a _monster_."

Camille flinched back when her mother practically growled the word, jumped when one of her captors shoved her. But Alcina wouldn't stop, and that roaring was steadily beginning to rise.

"I told you to kill him. I _ordered _you to kill the monster Bane or that I would come after you. And you disobeyed me. Another choice you made was to stay with that monster. Monster whore." Alcina stood gracefully, gave the others a look and had them all exiting quickly. This was a family matter. No more theater. "Of course my _own daughter_ would _fuck_ that man, that man who thought he could _imprison_ me, Camille. Me, in my own city. Well, I couldn't let that go, could I? And when I knew you wouldn't fulfill my wishes, I made a call, and… recruited a couple additions to our big family."

Camille felt her shoulders shaking as two bodies entered the room now, two people she'd just recently seen. The same two people that were causing Bane so much trouble.

Harley Quinn skipped into the room, wearing her black and red bra and leather pants, her matching boots tapping against the tile as her blonde pigtails bobbed. The Joker gave her a big smile and a wave. "Hi, honey!" he called cheerfully to her as Harley twirled around him. "Didn't know you were the apple of the Big Boss's eye."

This whole time they thought they were a part of a war between three major parties. But in reality, in truth, Bane had been severely duped. Camille eyed them nervously, the haunting images of dead smiling men flickering in her memory. She'd almost ended up that way because of the clowns. And now, there was no Bane around to save her again.

She was steadily coming to a realization. And it was starting to make her feel sick.

"I offered the Joker partnership," Alcina continued happily, flicking her gaze above Camille's head as someone else entered the room, her lovely face falling into one of fondness. "He agreed to keep Gotham in shambles for me so that I could retain my place. What with the mercenaries having taken over the city once before, I needed to remain in charge, in control. And in return, the Joker may do whatever he wants with the city in exchange for that place. Ah, there he is," she cooed, lifting her hands and placing them on the cheeks of a tall, handsome man who'd walked up to her. His hair was dark and wavy, gracing the tops of his broad, muscled shoulders. He had a gun strapped to his hip, and an air of authority that commanded attention. Snug clothes fit his muscled body, his skin matching the olive tone of her mother's. "Camille, this is Luis. Luis, my daughter. He's the head of my security. And very accomplished in the areas of protection. A great rival for your monster, I would say."

Luis waited for Alcina to kiss his cheeks lovingly before standing at her side obediently. One of the perks of being head of security was becoming the lover of his boss. And he worshipped Alcina completely.

"Can we play with her now, Miss Lady?" Harley asked innocently, jumping up and down like a girl as she held the Joker's arm.

Alcina ignored her. She liked to ignore the clowns. She looked back at her daughter, and calmly placed her hand upon her curly head.

The roar in Camille's head turned into a scream as her mother touched her.

"I have plans for you, Camille. You and your monster. And if you get off on slicing your skin when things are becoming too hard for you…" She nodded at the men holding her, waited until they grabbed Camille and yanked her roughly to her feet. She grabbed Camille's cheeks, pulled her face close to her own. "Then I suppose I'll be doing you one last favor before I let the clowns have their way. You escaped the hole for far too long, baby girl. It's time to go back in."

Camille shook her head as they began pulling her into a room off to the side, one that held nothing inside it. Empty and lonely, like how her world was slowly becoming again. The Joker and Harley were following close behind. "Please, mother…"

"You should have killed Bane when you had the chance," Alcina said as Luis went with the others, casting her gaze to yet another person walking up to her. This one was a woman, a woman with black hair that curled down her back, a woman with dark eyes that were awfully familiar as she held a clipboard in her shining silver pants suit. Camille had just enough time to stare at the woman before she was thrown into the room. Just enough time to decide that her mother had found a suitable replacement for her during the years she'd been gone. Before the door closed with the clowns inside with her, she heard her mother chirp happily to the other woman.

"How long until my next meeting, Julie?"

"Five minutes, Mrs. Angeli."

Locked in the room with the Joker and Harley Quinn, Camille tried to fight them off, but the aches and pains of the car crash were starting to weigh her down. She had cuts from the shattered glass, a sore shoulder, and a burning sensation in her hips that were mostly some kind of inflammation. And yet she still tried to fight. Still tried even after Harley subdued her, and held her down. Her body hurt and her head was a mess. She could only remember that her mother was here, just a few feet away, and had taken her from the only person she'd ever felt safe with.

That realization from earlier was starting to consume her again. Maybe she would die this night…

The Joker crossed his arms as he smiled at her, his painted face gleaming with deadly anticipation. "You know, honey, I really liked your scars. I even gave Harley a few new ones because I thought yours were just so darn cute."

Harley laughed a little nervously, and tried not to think about the still bleeding cuts along her thighs. Camille squirmed in her arms some, but she twisted her aggressively for stillness.

The Joker took a step closer, close enough for Camille to see that the greasepaint had worn off in some areas from messiness. "I never got around to telling you about mine, did I? It's kinda a long story but… I think we have some time." With laughter in his eyes, he shrugged off his purple tux jacket, ready to get down to business. "You see, when I was a boy, they all said I was a tad… disturbed. But honestly, I don't know where they get their ideas from. All I did was beat a kid to the point of stiches, decapitate a couple of animals, lock my parents in a burning house, and kill a few gang members and shop owners. What was so bad about that? I told them I was happy, but no one would believe me. All of that was _fun_, I told them." His hand suddenly snapped out and grabbed Camille's face, holding her in place. He smiled big enough to show her his yellow teeth, his voice growling now like a rabid dog. "And yet they still said I was _disturbed_. So do you know what I did to show them how happy I was? I got a knife one day. This very knife, to be exact." He reached into his pocket, pulled out a switchblade and released the blade with a _flick_. The same one he'd tried cutting her with before. "I cut open their faces. Each and every doctor and nurse who wanted to tell me how _sad_ I was. But I wasn't sad. I actually like to think of myself as a highly functional dysfunctional person." He giggled breathlessly at that one. "And as I glanced at all their smiling dead faces, I did start to feel a little envious. All of them would always have a grin. I wanted to look that way, too. So I popped this bad boy in my mouth, and showed them just as _happy_ I really was."

Where was her mind? Camille asked herself, staring into the Joker's eyes, feeling Harley's hard grip because her body was giving out on her. Why couldn't she think of anything she could do? Why couldn't she find the will to continue to fight, and run from this hell?

Because her mother was back, she told herself. And her mother had always kept her down. Kept her down far enough to where she couldn't even fight off the clowns.

"Aw, you look so upset," the Joker muttered, frowning at her pityingly. "But because I like you, I'm gonna do for you what I did for myself. You'll look happy," he said, gripping her face hard enough to leave white prints on her skin, gripping the blade in his hand with that same strength. "No interruptions this time. Let's give you a smile, _suicide girl._"

Suddenly, within her sinking head, she heard salvation. The sound of Bane's voice in her mind.

_You must stay alive so that you can come back to me, Camille._

He's said that to her once. Maybe she could believe it. Maybe she could push the other realization back and save herself. The Joker neared her mouth with his knife.

"No!"

Camille shrieked and fought as Harley struggled to hold her in place, screaming loudly and lashing out as the Joker reached for her now. He snarled at Harley for not keeping her still, grabbed Camille's hair so that he could slash her face open. Camille tried head-butting Harley, but her muscles ached so badly, her cuts stinging and slowing her down, weakening her from the car crash. She watched as the clown reeled his arm back to stab her face, moved just in time to avoid a slash to her cheek.

Camille yelped as the blade pierced some of her bottom lip, and ran all the way down her chin. Blood instantly welled and trickled down her neck, a sting throbbing so painfully that she was sure she would be deformed.

Harley dropped her onto the floor as the Joker began to beat her for not holding his next victim down efficiently. And even through it, Harley remained quiet, taking his hits like the obedient lover she was.

Camille instantly slapped a hand to her mouth, felt the blood and the cut that would possibly need stiches. Her hands were trembling, her feet scampering to get away from the clowns. Away from her mother. And then she heard a shout, looked up at the rush of her mother's men coming towards her. They smiled, telling her that her mother told them they could punish her now. The rush of men swamped her. And then came their fists, their boots, their grabbing hands as they pulled her every which way, jerking her around like a rag doll. At some point she couldn't hold her mouth and try to avoid the blows to the rest of her body at the same time. Blood ran all the way down her front from the gash at her mouth, smearing in her hair, staining her skin. And oddly, she felt used to it.

This is what Bane had felt, she thought distantly through it all, closing her eyes so she wouldn't have to look at the mobsters faces as they beat her. This must have been how he felt when a different group of men had swarmed him, attacked him for the little girl he'd died saving. A little girl Camille would not be there to save him from now. Not anymore.

It was just another thing, this similar beating, that would connect them.

Camille groaned as they backed away, her head dizzy and pounding horribly. She couldn't move anything, couldn't even muster up the strength for words. And when they hauled her up again, they slammed her chest against the nearest wall, and reached for her skirt.

"What the hell are you guys thinking?" one asked, pushing the man who was trying to yank the barrier away from her body. "Too much trouble this way. She has other places."

They pushed her to her knees, the one who'd stopped them from raping her body taking her face in his hands as he stood at the side of her, and holding her weak head up.

She couldn't think. And she hurt so much. Her vision wavered as the man in front of her reached for his zipper, as he told the man holding her still to open her mouth.

A woman shouted, halting all their movements. Camille's hazy eyes looked around for the clowns, found them gone as the group of men parted. Suddenly she was let go, her body dropping before the woman who'd stopped them crotched down and grabbed her, pulling her cheek against her chest.

Camille couldn't even flinch away from her mother's embrace.

"Shame on all of you," Alcina scolded to her men, holding Camille against her breasts, not caring about the blood. "I told you that her body was not to be taken by anyone except her treasured monster. Leave the damaged goods to _him_." Alcina smiled down at the mess that was her daughter, suddenly having a wave of motherly affection as she reached up to brush her matted curls back from Camille's sweaty face. Camille trembled against her, confusion eating her. Devouring her. Causing her to sink again.

"This is how you train something, baby girl," she murmured to her, inspecting the gash on her chin with false concern. "Like how I once trained you, when you were a child. You brainwash it, keep it locked up, totally dependent on you. You convince it that it has no choice but to stay because whatever else that's out there is _worse_. You keep it hungry, uncomfortable, and afraid. Small rewards for obedience, harsh punishment for any infraction. And accustom it to whatever tasks it's meant to do. Bind it to you with fear, and it's yours." Alcina gently laid Camille onto the floor, watched as she weakly reached for her bleeding mouth. "I'll have you trained again, Camille. You've always been a good girl to me, haven't you?" She leaned down to kiss Camille's forehead, stood.

Julie, her assistant, waited dutifully for orders.

"Lock her in here for three days," she told her, and turned on her heel to the exit.

The room went black, just as it had always been in her bedroom as a child. Camille curled into a ball, sniveled back tears and a scream.

She didn't know how she was going to get out of this one.

All the harsh abuse of her childhood was within one woman, the one woman who was supposed to protect her at all costs, who was supposed to strive to make her feel happy and cared for. And now she was back, and ready to keep her in this hole. But you got out of a hole by climbing a rope, didn't you? Where was her rope? She needed her rope.

But her rope was Bane. And he wasn't here.

And Camille decided… that she didn't want him to come here, if only to protect him.

_The worst is not to die. The worst is to suffer helplessly._

His voice again, that voice that could make her shiver, make her miss him. She wanted him but she would never want him to come here. And he'd been right, just as he'd always been right. She was suffering. Without him now, she would suffer just like before when he'd been trapped within the pit again. Bane had once told her that she was brave, that she was a greater woman, one who could make the jump. Camille's breath hitched and then panted as she tried turning onto her back, pain consuming her within the dark.

Maybe she couldn't make the jump. Maybe she was a lesser woman. And maybe… she would fall.

_What if someone takes me? _

_Then I will find you._

Camille didn't want Bane to come here.

Because she was certain that there was no way she could survive this.

* * *

It was now a few hours after the crash, well into the night and coming on to very early the next day. The mess had been cleaned, the ruined mess that had been their truck and their dead driver taken away so that nothing could be traced back to them. Injuries had been tended to, phone calls had been made. A few hours had gone by so quickly with so much to do.

And during those few hours, Bane had been steadily seething.

With his heart in his throat, with pure rage now completely visible over every single inch of him, Bane barked at his men, shattered the window of one of the other vehicles from the force of his strength, and knocked one man completely out cold when he'd asked him what happened to them all. Usually he kept himself so composed, even in the midst of anger, showing his men his mood without physical actions of brute strength.

Right now, he hardly cared about any of them.

Someone had taken from him. Someone had taken what was his. And that someone would pay.

His first thought was the mob. It obviously hadn't been the Gotham police or the Nightwing, and it couldn't have been the Joker, although he made a good second place. All of the Joker's men wore clown masks and were noticeably insane. The men who'd taken Camille had been dressed casually, their faces bare and exposed to him. And the ones he'd seen, he would most certainly remember. It had been hard to tear his gaze away from Camille as she'd struggled against them, but Bane had no choice if he wanted to get a good visual on who exactly had dragged her away. He could remember their fear, their panic as they saw him exiting the flipped truck, ready to bulldoze them down for snatching what belonged to him. He would see that fear again. And whoever had ordered her kidnapping, he would make sure they panicked ten times over.

Bane stomped into the apartment as the others readied themselves, preparing the base and all their equipment so that they could begin tracking her down. They didn't know how they were going to go about doing it yet, but if they didn't come up with something quick then he would kill them all. He paced the area maddeningly, his hands balled into tight fists, trying to think. Trying desperately to think because suddenly he couldn't seem to think at all.

He wondered what was happening to her right at that moment. He wondered if she was scared, or if she was chopping her kidnappers head's off for taking her away. He wanted to hold onto that image instead of the other alternatives, wanted to smile at the picture in his head of Camille burning them with her fire. But another thought crossed his mind, and ended that…terrible hope.

Bane wondered if Camille was even still alive.

The city knew of her connection to him, even if it was a false one. They knew that he kept her close, knew that he treated her differently than others because she was still his only known hostage. Surely they, whoever they were, would use Camille as a way of getting back at him for whatever they felt they needed vengeance for. But he didn't want to think about any of that. He only wanted her back.

_He only wanted her back. _

Everything suddenly felt like a twisted form of phantom limb syndrome. He could still feel Camille around him, in all her things within the apartment, her scent still clinging to the bed they shared. He could see her clothes, her shoes, her silly lipsticks all along the bathroom counter. He could even see the smears of that very paint staining her pillow. He could _feel_ her.

But she wasn't here. Like an amputated limb, she was gone.

It had been just a few hours since she'd been taken. And Bane felt the worst kind of dread that these hours without her would continue.

And they did, the time feeling just as awful as he knew they would. Until suddenly they got something. As Bane ordered all of his men to do whatever came to his mind in finding out who'd taken her, a phone call came in and changed everything.

Zaid, with his rags hanging off of his bony brown body and a cell phone in his hand, approached Bane and held it out to him.

"Contact, sir," he said, and stepped back as Bane snatched the phone.

He lifted it and listened, hearing the ragged breathing at the other end and tried desperately to find some kind of composure so that he could speak to these people, and threaten them for taking what was his. He would demand Camille's return, and tell them explicitly what would happen to them if they failed to comply, or if she was returned injured. If one black curl was out of place, if one inch of her white skin was marred, he would make them scream for death. Going straight to hell would be a better option.

And then he heard the voice at the other end, and forgot everything else.

"Bane…"

Her voice was a forced and hoarse mutter, coming through the phone like an answer to a prayer, like a tiny ray of sunshine. He could hear the exhaustion, and what he tried to refuse as pain in her small voice. And even knowing all of that, he couldn't remember hearing a better sound.

Camille swallowed as she held the phone to her ear, still lying on the floor, on her side and her back to the man her mother had called Luis as he stood with a handgun aimed steadily at her head. He'd told her that she could talk to her monster, orders from her mother, for a short amount of time before she would be confined to the dark room for three days. And if she uttered one word, one single word about her whereabouts or any names or mentions of those who'd taken her, he would send a bullet right through her skull as Bane listened in.

In the hours she'd been left alone after her struggle with the Joker and her beatings from the mobster henchmen, Camille had tried to patch herself together in the dark as best as she could. She'd ripped most of her skirt to pieces, using the shreds to tend to her cuts and the gash on her mouth. Her bottom lip had been horribly spilt down the middle from the Joker's switchblade, the slash going diagonally down her chin. And as she'd poked and prodded, wiped and tended to, she decided that she wouldn't need stiches if she was careful. The rest of her was a throbbing mess of aches and pulsations, patches of red welts all along her body from fists and boots, grasping hands from strong yanking that would bruise terribly at any moment. With the pieces of her skirt she'd also tried wiping the dried blood from her skin, especially where it had flowed down the front of her neck from the gash on her mouth and chin. But it still stained her, on her face and her body, matted into her hair, her mouth constantly tasting the coppery flavor from her injury. She looked like a mess. She felt even worse. And now she had to talk to Bane like this, bloody and beaten.

If she ever saw him again, how would he ever find her attractive now?

Because surely something would be permanent. And Camille couldn't seem to think past the now, suffering horribly in the present. The future… was nonexistent.

Bane couldn't remember being at a loss for words in his entire life. He was always prepared, always on his toes for anything that could happen. But hearing her now, with so many different images of what had happened to her running in his mind, he had hardly any clue what to say. The only thing he _could_ say was her name, if only to give her reassurance. Or maybe it was for himself. "Camille."

Camille closed her eyes and just listened to the sounds of his mask through the phone. She could fall asleep to that faint hissing. She could feel safe from the sound of a machine.

Bane turned his back to his men who were staring at him, and tried to think rationally. He could tell her so many things. He could tell her to put whoever had taken her on the phone just so he could get those threats out. He'd rather be enraged at someone else right now instead of having to talk to her on the phone this way, because he knew what this was. He knew that this call was nothing more than a twisted kind of control over him.

And they were winning, because hearing her now was tearing him apart.

He went for the direct approach. Maybe if he could turn it into business, into a goal, he would stop feeling so… affected.

"Where are you?" he asked with surprising calmness, trying so hard not to explode.

Camille knew how he was feeling. She could practically see the rage swelling up under his skin if she imagined him in her head. "I can't say." She swallowed again, wanting to choose her words carefully but knowing he would know the truth no matter what she said. "I have a gun at my head. I can't tell you where I am."

When she'd been away from him before, when he'd been trapped in the pit and she had been trying to resume the life he'd taken her from, Camille could remember how badly her chest hurt. It hurt even worse now. Being without him, knowing it was against both their wishes, it hurt so bad she thought she would die from it. She wanted him so badly.

"Have they harmed you, Camille?"

Bane found that he was desperately waiting for an answer, an answer that would be a no. But when he didn't get an answer at all, he discovered that it was even worse. Camille's silence over the phone was an answer more horrible than a word. But still he waited on. Maybe, maybe…

_There is no true despair without hope._

"Bane," she whispered, curling more into a ball on her side and holding the phone like a lifeline. "Will you tell me I'm beautiful?"

Bane closed his eyes and felt his heart drop, breaking inside. Camille only ever asked him to tell her that when she didn't feel it herself. Her question to him now told him that Camille wasn't feeling good. That she wasn't feeling pretty.

That she had, in fact, been hurt.

"What did they do to you?"

She ignored him, didn't want to tell him of her mouth or the bruises forming on her body. "I want to hear you say it… before…" Her voice drifted off, her eyes still closed. She kept the image of him in her head, and found that she couldn't push back the truth that she would never see him again. "Please just tell me. Just say it…"

"Camille." He could hear the building hysteria in her shaky voice, and walked away from his men so that they couldn't listen. He didn't want to think about how badly she was hurt. He didn't want to think about what could have happened to her to cause her to ask him for sweet words. He gave them to her now to help her. To tie her over until he found her. "No one is as beautiful as you, Camille." Bane looked off into nothing, focused only on the phone and the voice at the other end, knowing his words were true. "My Snow White."

She smiled very softly, trying to forget that her mouth was terribly cut, that her body was bruised and beaten. That a gun was at her head and her mother so very close. If she was going to have one last memory of him, she wanted to feel like they were alone. That nothing else mattered. She could remember the first time she saw him, everything in between.

And she could remember the very moment when everything had changed. When she knew… how she felt about him.

"I know what you called me, when we were at Pamela's. I know what that word means."

The night he'd spoken Arabic to her, the night he'd called her _beloved_. He could remember too, although his mind had been hazy at the time, the effect of how she could make him feel during passion. Camille continued to talk, the pain and exhaustion in her voice more evident with every word. With every confession.

"I want to say it. I want… to say that word back to you."

Bane hadn't realized that his head had fallen down until his hand reached up to cover his eyes. What was she thinking? he asked himself. What could she possibly be thinking to make her feel like she had to say these things to him? He knew, and he wouldn't allow it to be true. "You will fumble it. Wait until I see you, and then you may tell me."

"I won't."

He didn't know what she was answering him on. That she wouldn't mess up the pronunciation, or that she wouldn't see him again. He refused to think of the latter, and slowly, so slowly because he knew she needed it, said the word to her again so that she could repeat it.

"_Habibi_," she murmured, using the form for men. She didn't care that her mother's lover could hear her just a couple feet away. All she wanted was to talk to her own. To tell him things she couldn't before. Her chest felt like it was broken, and everything underneath shattered. She forced herself to remember the feel of his skin, the smell and taste of him. Senses she would never experience again because she had to protect him. Because she didn't want him to come here and get hurt. "My beloved."

How could she do this to him? he asked himself for the millionth time. How could she make him feel this way? Why did she have to say these things when she was lost and hurt, and he couldn't go to her? Bane took a deep breath, shook his head. If Camille was this way, and he couldn't help her through it… She really wasn't strong enough to take care of herself in certain situations. And she was alone.

Camille being alone when she was horribly sad had never been a good thing.

"Give me something, Camille. You can give me some kind of lead without them knowing. Anything at all. I will come get you and bring you home."

"I know I can. But I don't want to. I don't want you to come."

"Why?" he breathed, fighting desperation. Fighting something else breaking inside him.

"I don't want you to get hurt. I have to protect you."

Bane dropped his hand that was now a hard fist. Of course she would do this to him, make him irritated in the midst of all this. "Camille," he said sternly, hoping that this time his tone would work in his favor with her. "Send me on some kind of path. Do you remember what I told you a long time ago? If someone takes you then I will find you. What did I say I would do if someone hurt you?"

She was silent again. But she still wouldn't tell him. He wanted to curse at her, yell at her for being so stupid. He was going to wring her neck when he found her. He was never going to let her go…

"I have to go," she told him, trying to hold in a pained noise he could still hear as she shifted some. "Say goodbye to me."

"I won't say that to you," he hissed, squeezing the phone so hard he felt faint cracking. "I'm coming for you. What did I say I would do? Answer me now, Camille."

Her chin trembled, her eyes filling, but she wouldn't let the tears fall. She wouldn't cry here and now. Not like this. "Please don't come," she whispered, felt Luis approach her so that he could take away the phone since her time was up. She waited a second longer to hear the familiar hissing of his mask, and knew that it was the most wonderful sound she would ever hear. "Goodbye."

And then she was gone.

She'd said that horrible word to him. That very final, very _hideous_ word. How dare she try to protect him? How dare she try to keep him safe when she was suffering? That word he hated, right after she'd called him her beloved. That same word he'd said to Talia when she'd been a girl.

_Goodbye._

Bane didn't know what to do. His mind was completely blank. All he could do was stand in one spot, looking at nothing as he still held the phone. And hearing Camille's voice over and over in his head, her pain, her sadness. How lonely she felt.

_What if someone hurts me? _

_Then I will kill them. _

"Sir."

Bane spun around, spotted Zaid approaching him cautiously. He stood a few feet back, just in case his leader lashed out again like before. He couldn't tell him that he'd been able to trace the call from the cell phone. The signal had been blocked in a way even he couldn't figure out. But Zaid liked Camille, and had watched Bane from outside as his leader suffered without his woman. Zaid spoke quickly, hoping to shed some kind of light.

"Dr. Lane said to begin with Tony Zucco," he told Bane, remembering the night Camille had gone off on her own. "She said to start there. He knows something."

Bane stared at Zaid for a while, crunching the cell phone in his fist to sparking, broken pieces of nothing. He let them litter to the floor, finally able to think. Finally being given some kind of information. And he ran with it.

She didn't want him to come so that she could protect him from whoever had her. He was coming anyway.

"We leave immediately," he ordered Zaid, and headed straight for the exit.

Back at the warehouse, back with the mob, Camille tried to get her breathing under control, and hoped desperately that she wouldn't have some kind of panic attack. She couldn't think about Bane anymore. She didn't want to, because she was falling into a thousand pieces. The wind was going to pick up those pieces, and carry her away. She wanted to just go away…

Luis pocketed the phone, holstered his gun. He gave her a nod of approval for doing a good job, turned to leave.

"The Joker will betray you," she said to him, halting his exit.

Luis stared at her, at the broken heap that was Alcina's daughter. The child would never compare to the woman, he discovered. He ignored her pathetic attempt to rile them. If Alcina was sure that partnering with the clown was acceptable, then he believed her. "Speaking of him, he sent you a gift." Luis reached around the corner, picked up a bag with a dark, round object inside. He shook it, tossed it near her. A sick wet sound emitted from the bag as it hit the floor with a _thunk_.

Camille kept her back to him, her eyes still closed. Her body still throbbing. "Why do you love her?" she asked him quietly, refusing to look at the eyes of utter devotion on Luis' face that had matched her father's when it came to her mother.

Luis shrugged, thought of his lover. Of his boss. And thought it a stupid question. "She is beautiful."

After he left, Camille turned around slowly, whimpering some from pain, deciding to see what the Joker had left her so that she wouldn't think of Bane. Thinking of Bane would make her cry, and she never wanted to cry again. Bane wasn't coming because he didn't know where she was. And would stay safe because of it. Camille looked at the wet bag, the transparent content the last thing she saw before the lights in the small room went out, and locking her in darkness again.

Inside the bag was the dismembered head of Detective Zachery Beck.

Luis rubbed his wavy hair back, continued on his way to Alcina Angeli's luxurious bedroom. He entered quietly, watched her for a moment from the doorway as she lounged on her giant, comfortable bed in her lingerie. She may be older than him but he knew they were meant to be. Knew that he was destined to be by her side as she ran the Italian Mob. Luis discarded his clothing, crawled in with her.

Alcina wove her fingers into his hair. "How did my baby girl enjoy her phone call?"

"She is in love with him. You can hear it in her voice. She called him beloved."

She smiled, giggled some. "How sweet. I assume you gave her the Joker's gift."

"I did." And because he was her head of security, because he protected her, he felt the need to bring up what her daughter had mentioned. "She says the clown will betray us."

Alcina waved the issue away carelessly. "The Joker is not stupid. No one double-crosses me." She would rather think about the vacation she was planning with another one of her lovers. Perhaps she would go back home, to Italy. "And did you tell Camille whose fault it is that she's here now?"

"I figured you would want to tell her yourself."

Alcina thought of the phone call, the phone call made by someone in the monster's very crew. After a few other negotiations, they had come to a full agreement. And Camille had been given to her on a silver platter because she hadn't been liked very much in the army. At least, by a certain individual. "I do. You know me so well, _cara._"

The man called Barsad was a sneaky one. It was a shame he worked for the monster of Gotham.

* * *

It had taken them two days to track him down. The false mob boss was constantly on the move, constantly throwing everyone else off and keeping the true one protected. But finally he returned to his sky-rise penthouse apartment. Finally, he would have no room to squirm.

Tony Zucco waved his driver off and hopped into the elevator with a sigh. Pressing the button to his floor, he leaned against the wall and looked up at the mirrored ceiling, inspecting his face. Makeup was a miraculous thing, he decided, knowing the bruises that bitch mercenary had given him were almost completely faded, but still there under foundation and concealer. With the makeup on he looked normal, his weathered Italian good looks giving him that stereotypical mob appearance that the boss had demanded from him when he'd taken the job as the escape guy. Sure it was a risky business, being seen as the boss when he really wasn't. But it paid very well, and he found he couldn't give up the cash. Walking into his lavish apartment, he went straight into the bathroom to wash off the makeup and undress down to his boxers and white undershirt.

He wanted his bed. His feet hurt after a long day of being seen here and there, and all he wanted was to get off them and underneath the covers. Tony shook himself like a dog as his tiredness consumed him, as he padded into his bedroom.

Something flew through the air and whacked him in the face, sending him down right before hands grabbed him. A second fist made contact with his already swollen eye, the eye that had almost finished healing from the last person who'd punched him. Tony grunted as his head reeled back from yet another fist, and slumped down to his knees. His nose was bleeding now from the first hit, what he could remember had been the end of a gun. He lifted his head to look at his attackers, and groaned deeply.

"Oh God… More of you? For fuck's sake, why the hell do you keep coming to me? Can't you leave a guy the fuck alone?"

Mercenaries, again. Here to hit him, just like the lady one a few nights ago. Suddenly this job didn't seem worth it. And when Bane stepped in front of him, that horrible mask hissing at him like a snake, Tony Zucco felt like his bladder was going to let loose. What had that lady told him? She'd said she was going to return with Bane. Tony then remembered the sight of that same lady being brought to Mrs. Angeli.

_Oh_.

"Look," Tony began, his voice hitching as he stared up at Bane, thinking that maybe he could just get right down to business. This guy was a lot scarier than his girlfriend. "I already told your lady friend that I don't run the joint. I'm not the guy you want."

"I'm not here for information I've already known about, Mr. Zucco. Camille Lane paid you a visit a few nights ago. I assume she is the one who gave you those bruises along your face."

Tony blinked, sniffed. Then started coughing as blood ran into the back of his throat. "She throws quite a punch," he said gravelly.

"She does." Bane stared at the faint bruises some more, and tried not to let his heart fall in his chest again from the longing he felt for her. "She was taken from me. You will tell me where she is."

Tony rolled his eyes. "I don't know where your girlfriend is, pal. What makes you think the mob has her?"

Bane ignored him. He _knew_ the mob had her. They were the only option that made sense to him. "Do you want to go to prison, Anthony Zucco? If you continue to lie to me, I will be happy to drop you onto Cop Central's doorstep. What do you think you will be charged with, as the leader of the mob?"

"Jesus," he breathed, his head dropping. He'd already screwed up enough. He'd thought he was the perfect man for this job, but he was proving himself wrong. If he went to jail, he'd never see the light of day again. No matter what lawyer he hired. "Look… Yeah, they have her. But I had nothing to do with it, honest. I haven't seen her since they stole her."

Bane nodded approvingly, seeing the relief in Zucco's face. Feeling some of his own now that he knew for absolute certain what had happened to Camille. "Now, Mr. Zucco, you will tell me who holds the place you pretend to have. Who is your boss and where can I find him?"

Tony snorted. "Do I look stupid to you? I can't tell you that shit. No matter how many guys you bring." He glared at the men holding him, at the other's behind Bane's back who all held firearms.

"If you _were_ smart you would understand that if you do not tell me, then I will kill you."

"I'm dead either way. She finds out I squealed she'll do worse."

Bane didn't know if his heart was still beating after Tony's words. But maybe it hadn't been beating since Camille was taken from him. He repeated the words in his head, repeated it until he grasped onto them fully. Camille had mentioned this to him a while ago, when they'd first arrived in Gotham. And he'd dismissed the idea. "She," he repeated harshly, almost growling.

Tony bared his teeth and cursed himself. No, not good for this job at all. "Like I said, I'm dead, whether you do it or she orders it. So as far as I'm concerned, the both of you can go fuck yourselves."

Bane knew. He _knew_. Camille had tried to tell him that her mother ran the mob. She hadn't understood how it was possible that she didn't, and this pathetic man did. And she'd been right. Alcina Angeli had been running the mob possibly even before she'd starting sending Camille notes to kill him, and before she inserted a rat within his army. Bane understood Camille's tone of voice when she'd spoken with him on the phone now. She hadn't sounded like that when he'd kidnapped her, and would have been the same way if it were anyone else. But if she was with her mother…

Bane knew Camille was stuck in her nightmares.

He crouched down to Zucco's level, sending his piercing green eyes straight into his bones. And when Bane spoke, his voice was low. Low and threatening. Like a demon. "You are keeping me from what's mine, Mr. Zucco. And that is unacceptable. I've decided that I won't kill you." Bane looked behind him, mentioned for Barsad, who had remained silent this whole time, to come closer. His second awaited orders. "Start with his ribs. Break each and every one very slowly. Move on to his hands next, followed by his feet." Bane dropped his eyes to Tony's ugly boxer shorts. "And then _castrate_ him."

"Yes, sir."

"What the fuck!" Tony yelled, and tried scurrying away only to be yanked forward by the other mercenaries. "You're insane! All of you are _fucking_ insane! Especially you and your stupid _monster whore!_"

Bane backhanded him across the face, not hard enough to the point of unconsciousness, not soft enough to feel like a regular slap. Tony started crying, holding his cheek as the others let him go. Bane stood, placed one combat boot onto Tony's chest, and pressed.

"I've changed my mind," Bane growled, his patience gone now that he knew Camille was with her mother. And the only thing keeping him from her was this sad little man. "_I _will break your bones. _I_ will remove your body parts. And I am not as precise as he is."

Tony screamed as Bane went to reach for him, and flinched hard. Death was not as bad as torture. And he knew he couldn't handle it. All he could think about was his broken hands and feet, and blood gushing from between his legs as the monster ripped him into pieces because some bitch stole his woman.

It wasn't worth it.

"Don't hurt me, don't hurt me! I'll tell you! Goddamn you, I'll tell you everything…"

Barsad watched on as Zucco told Bane of Alcina and where he could find her. But he couldn't feel shame yet, and he knew that only Alcina knew about him and his phone call. They had prepared for this. And everything he did was for Bane's own good. His oldest friend would appreciate this one day, when he understood that he'd almost lost himself in another dreadful woman. He pushed back something that tried to grip him in his chest. And told himself that it was only an odd kind of pity that Bane would be saddened by his separation from the doctor.

But Barsad would save him. Barsad would take him away from this pain, just as Bane had once done the very same thing for him long ago.

"Thank you for your help, Mr. Zucco. You made a wise choice." Bane pushed the man back, headed for the exit.

And signaled for his men to shoot Tony Zucco.

The shots were comforting.

* * *

How could he be feeling like this? How could he be feeling like the entire world was sinking, and that the only way to right it was to have Camille with him? Bane hadn't wanted to feel this way again after Talia had died. Because moments like these were simply… excruciating. But yet here he was, chasing after her because someone had stolen her. He'd been away from Camille for much longer than this. But he had never left her without it being his own decision before. This forced separation was something he found he couldn't stand. Bane intently watched the road as he and a good number of his men headed straight for the warehouse that was Alcina Angeli's headquarters, and could only think of one goal. Of having what belonged to him back with him again.

Her mother had taken her. But Bane was hardly surprised. He knew of Alcina's treatment of Camille when she'd been growing up, and had witnessed firsthand how she felt about her daughter when she'd sent someone to kill her. Maybe she was just finishing the job. Bane shook his head and went back to a silent place inside himself, a place that would focus on one thing so that a million others wouldn't distract him.

Because it was very difficult not to think about how Camille was doing right now. Being with her mother again, her toxic abuser, who knew what had happened to her? Bane didn't want to think about if Camille was falling into depression again. He didn't want to get inside her head and know her thoughts. He didn't want to know if she was cold or hungry or crying for him.

He was getting her back. It was the only thing that could matter. The only thing he would allow to matter.

_Habibi. My beloved. _

The man who was driving told them all they were nearing their destination. The announcement was closely followed by the numerous sounds of various weapons being cocked into place. With nothing but his tight black shirt on his back, Bane fought hard not to think about Camille's last words to him.

Maybe it was the closest they would ever come to saying _I love you_.

Bane slowly slid into the man that was nothing but a mercenary. He pushed everything else aside, his green eyes becoming flat and determined. One goal. Only one goal because nothing else was as important. Nothing else would ever be as important. He would do the work. He would get his woman, and take her away from her hell. Just as she'd done for him when he'd been in the pit.

The warehouse was now in sight. Bane gave his men orders, kept his eyes on the front door and the steady flow of Italian mobsters that were now rushing out with their own weapons. Everyone knew they would have to be quick, if only so that the annoyance that was the police wouldn't come and cause even more of a disturbance. But Bane didn't intend on staying long. Vengeance would be for another night.

And then the gunshots came, the piercing sound of them as they hit concrete and metal, flesh and bone. Blood erupted from the mobsters as his men aimed and fired, their precision with their weapons far greater than those of the others. His men held off the rush of attack as he quickly exited the truck, and headed straight for the warehouse. As he raided the building, others tried shooting him, attacking him with their fists or other useless weapons. But they were no match for him. And he was in no mood. In silence he subdued them, killed them when he had the second to spare. And all the while his sharp eyes searched, combed every single inch and every single room he came to, looking for that curly black head.

Bane half hoped he stumbled upon Camille's mother. He vaguely knew what she looked like, the only picture in his mind that of a photo from Camille's old apartment. Even then she looked like she had a plan. Even then, he could tell how she felt about her own daughter.

_The others can see, but they can't see you. They never could. They can only hate you. You've given them everything and they still hate you._

Bane would not give Alcina another chance to torment his woman.

He grabbed another mobster who tried stabbing him with a knife as the gunshots continued, smashed his face into the wall but couldn't stick around to marvel at the blood. He searched, he scanned. He looked and looked and looked for her. He even called her name.

"Bane!"

And then he heard her. He snapped to attention, stormed the dark building as the moon shone bright in the sky above. He called to her again through the screaming and rushing of men, finally entered a room with security monitors and heard her through them. On the screen were about three men dragging Camille, her hair wild around her, her hands trying to grasp at them so that she could run free. Bane quickly glanced at her surroundings, saw that she was steadily being pulled to the back of the building. The footage was choppy, but he could tell. He felt like running as he continued his way on, very faint lights above him flickering before going out completely from the struggles of his and her mother's men fighting each other. But he couldn't run, because then he could miss an attack. He couldn't retrieve Camille if he was injured. But his legs were long enough to take great strides, to bring him closer to the prize.

Bane passed a few rooms with monitors, checking in them quickly as he rushed past them, keeping up with the men dragging Camille as he neared closer and closer. Her screaming voice seemed to follow him with every screen he charged past, her yells for him, her pleas for him.

Her pleas for him to leave her behind.

"Just go, Bane! Don't come here! Leave me, please, _don't get hurt_!"

"Hush," he whispered. But still she wouldn't _listen_. Why couldn't she listen to him for once?

The back of the building. He could see it, approached it with those long strides and heavy boots. And a last group of monitors, flickering on and hazy in the darkness of the warehouse and the night outside. He could see Camille on the screen struggling with her kidnappers, saw that they were trying to haul her in one of the waiting vehicles so they could carry her off again. The car backed up with the backdoor open, ready to toss her straight in, and slammed against the dumpster behind it as they panicked in the midst of the ambush by the mercenaries. He was almost there. Bane watched the screen as he approached it, ready to pass it. Ready to kill those men for harming her.

"Fuck this," the mobster struggling with her snarled as he shoved her. He lifted his pistol, aimed and fired.

On the screen, Bane watched as Camille was shot right in the head.

He stopped, felt his insides jolt every single time that one gunshot erupted in his mind repeatedly. He thought he'd actually jumped from the sound, everything going silent, everything going dead. Dead like… her. His eyes were wide as he stared at the lifeless body. That piece of flesh that was nothing but a body now because it couldn't be her. A spray of blood had erupted from the back of her curly black hair, sending her face-down on the concrete like the corpse she now was. A growing pile of that blood oozed around her, nothing on her moving because she would never again move at all. They had shot her.

_They had shot her_.

The monitor flickered again, and Bane felt like he couldn't move. All he could do was watch the screen, watch as the men tossed Camille's body into the dumpster. Nothing on him seemed capable of moving, and the only sound was the hissing of his mask, the medicine she had made for him keeping him alive. Bane had put himself completely into her rescue before. Now, he felt just as dead as…

Not again, his mind screamed at him. This couldn't happen to him again. Not a second time.

_One day soon, your rope will be cut. _

Bane faintly heard the sound of a rifle behind him, the shifting of two people. A sweet, floral scent drifted to his mask, followed by the tut-tutting of a woman. And then the monitor went black, clicking off. Bane looked into the reflection because he hadn't been able to look anywhere else, and saw Camille's mother standing behind him in a flowing dress, alongside her a muscular Italian man aiming a large rifle at his spine a few feet away.

Bane could barely hear anything else other than that single gunshot echoing in his head.

"This is what happens when children don't listen to their mothers, Luis. They always end up… dead." Alcina looked Bane over, at the monster she'd set out to destroy and had somehow always failed at doing so. Her eyes wandered down his body, at the power beneath the black shirt and cargo pants, the sheer _force_ of him. And then she looked into his eyes from the screen, realized that no one else must have seen this look on him before. He masked it well, but she could see. She stared back with her honed mother's eyes and saw.

Saw the complete and utter heartbreak on the monster's face.

"Were you in love with her?" she asked almost teasingly, giggling some and shaking her head. "That is quite the shame. In another life maybe we could have worked together." Alcina looked at his body again, her thoughts shifting, her mind changing.

Luis stared intently into the scope of the rifle, ready the blow Bane's brains out if he so much as moved an inch closer to them. Bane knew it, too, and stayed put.

But it hardly mattered. What could possibly matter now?

Alcina sighed, almost longingly. "They say losing a child is the greatest of pain. I can remember the day perfectly when Camille left us to go marry that pretty little cheat. She tried so hard to stay away from me. Refused to believe I even existed for a while, I know. But she just couldn't grasp that she was _my_ child. She belonged to _me_ and always had. You got to keep her for a little while, but she came from _my_ _body_. And that is something you could never replace in her."

She had wanted the monster Bane's death, wanted it so badly because no one imprisoned her. No one threatened her the way he'd done to them all during his revolution. But seeing him now, she decided that maybe this was better than death after all. For whatever the reason - because who could possibly be in love with _Camille_ – this monster had cared for her. And was suffering now because of it.

It was lovely. And everything was falling into place perfectly.

"I gave her life and now I've ended it. Good luck with the rest of yours. For now."

Luis made sure that Alcina made her leave unharmed before sneaking out with her, hoping that someday soon he could shoot the monster down for her. But it obviously wouldn't be tonight. Tonight, apparently, was for grieving.

Bane continued to look in the black monitor. He knew he should leave, knew he should get to safety before someone injured him like this. He needed to get back to his men, needed to leave before the cops or the Nightwing showed up. He couldn't deal with them now, wondered if he could deal with anything ever again. The gunshot continued to blast in his head, the screaming voice of Camille's very last words following right behind it. Her telling him to leave her. Telling him to save himself.

_My beloved. My beloved…_

_One day soon, your rope will be cut. _

Bane could feel his little girl choking him, and no Camille there to save him. He left quickly, feeling the effects of his severed rope. His rope had been cut.

And he was falling.

* * *

Behind a two-way mirror, in a sound-proofed room, Camille screamed loudly as Bane watched the woman known as Julie was shot in the head. The woman who looked like her…

She growled at the men holding her, trying to cover her mouth, trying to confine her. She screamed for Bane again, wishing, praying desperately that he would hear her, that he would know the truth. That she was not dead. That she was alive and right here.

"Bane! _Bane!_ I'm alive!" She kicked at the mobsters, finally being able to ignore her aching body, her cut mouth. She watched him break down, knew that she was the only one who could see that from him, and tried yelling louder. "I'm here! I'm here! Please, Bane, I'm right here!"

Someone took the end of their gun and slammed it into the back of her head, silencing her screams, her shouts to the one she longed for. And as the world went black, the horrible truth repeated over and over in her head, following her into oblivion.

Bane thought she was dead. Bane thought she was dead.

_She was dead. _

**TBC**

**A/N: Remember that trust I always remind you of? Hold on to it please. You all are the greatest, and I absolutely love the reviews. Send me some more and tell me your thoughts. Are you emotional? Then I've done my job as a writer. Don't forget to trust me, darlings. There's a lot more still left to blow your minds. Review for me. **


	18. Beauty of the Beast

_**Amaranthine**_

**Chapter 18**

**Beauty of the Beast**

"_I wish I could come back to you, once again feel the rain falling inside me, cleaning all that I've become. My home is far, but the rest it lies so close with my long lost love, under the black rose." – Nightwish_

_The Indian sun was hot, beating down on the sand relentlessly, shining bright in the sky as it burned and burned and burned away. Inside the house was cool, but now was not the time to be in the house, in the comfort. Now was the time for training to continue, before their return to Gotham, for both of them now. Camille had completed all her initiations, and Bane was pleased with his creation. Now, she would work on finding them transportation back to the city as he rallied up the army. _

_This was a time after all the fighting they'd gone through with each other, but before their departure to Gotham City. Camille's body and skills were completely transformed. And Bane was thinking of the fire. _

_Even though the hard work was done, he still wanted both of them as strong as they could ever be. _

_They were sparring on the deck, sweat dripping from them as the heat of their skin seemed to boil it. Bane had a desperate need to remove the braces from his body but knew that he couldn't, even in the heat, and Camille's hair was slowly beginning to look like frizzy dreadlocks. But even through their discomforts, they did the work, did what they had to do, and continued to fight. _

_Bane blocked her quick right and left to his mask, felt proud when she instantly dipped to avoid his massive swing to her head. She tried to jab him in the ribs then, flinched some when he caught her wrist and twisted her around. She needed to learn how to get out of these holds faster, and quickly ran through everything in her mind that Bane had taught her. Using her strength, she successfully squirmed out of his grip. _

_And tripped over her own feet. _

_She landed right on her bottom with a bewildered look, almost like she couldn't even understand how the fall had happened, and gave an annoyed sigh. Feeling even more irritation now that Bane was smirking down at her, she quickly stood and readjusted the bindings digging into her chest. _

"_You should know when to admit defeat, Camille," he told her, glancing down at her thighs. "You want to believe that you can force your legs to become strong. I'm afraid we all have a weakness." _

"_I just don't understand it. It's been a year." _

"_You are clumsy. How many times must I tell you this?" _

_She sighed again, used to his brash words. But he was right. As usual. "I suppose I'll just have to live with it, then." _

_He watched as she left through the sliding glass door inside the house, knowing that training was up for the day and that she could go shower now that the beating sun was finally beginning to set. Even Bane couldn't understand the weakness of her legs. But Camille refused to give up her high heeled shoes to lengthen the muscles. Maybe her legs had always been this way, he mused. Maybe exercise and combat training wouldn't help. But Bane was very resourceful, and knew that there was another way he could try to strengthen those legs. Or at least give them balance. _

_Later on, as the sun set low through the wide windows and both of them were clean from the day's sweat and grime, Camille wandered out of their room wearing a navy blue nighty, rubbing back her freshly washed curls as she searched for him. She heard faint music from the great living room, figured it was Bane playing the guitar again, something he did most evenings before bed in their Indian home. She followed it, stopped when she took in the reality. _

_Bane was not playing the guitar. Instead, the music was coming softly through the giant speakers at the corners of the room, something classy and instrumental. She lifted a brow at him as he stood with his arms crossed over his bare chest, looking like he'd been waiting for her and had been growing somewhat impatient. The clean scent of her drifted over to him, a scent he guessed was honey, her skin almost shining in the purple red of the sunset. _

"_What is this?" she asked almost hesitantly, knowing he was up to something she wouldn't particularly like. _

"_Your legs will not strengthen from vigorous training. But perhaps they will from something a little more graceful and dignified. You will dance with me." _

_She blinked at him, and he could have laughed at her face. "I'm sorry?" _

"_I believe you heard me just fine. Come dance with me." He held out his hand. _

_Camille stared at it, felt like he was offering her heroin or some other insane substance. Surely the man was crazy. Surely she'd misdiagnosed him back in the asylum. "I can't dance," she told him matter-of-factly. "I can't dance, Bane. I didn't even dance at my wedding. I don't..." She waved her hand at the air, at the music. "I don't know how to, not like that. I can't dance the way you want me to dance." _

"_Then you are in luck that I will be the one to lead." He beckoned her closer with his offered hand. "Come." _

_She gaped at him. "You're serious." _

"_Do I ever joke, Camille? _

_She stared at his determined face, and then at his hand again. The music drifting through the room felt like an unpleasant sound, only from the fact that she was going to do this. She was going to dance with Bane. And because he really was always serious, she sighed with defeat and took his hand anyway. She hardly ever won their arguments. "I can't believe I'm doing this. I can't dance this way." _

"_Yes, you can." Bane wrapped his other arm around her waist, pulled her hesitant body against him. "Think of it as combat training. Fighting can be seen as an aggressive type of dancing. With fighting you must know the moves and try to execute them as powerfully and as gracefully as you can, to stay unharmed. Dancing is hardly any different." _

"_I'm going to trip," she mumbled as he set one of her hands on his shoulder. _

_He smiled. "I will catch you." _

_And then, suddenly, she was dancing with him. _

_Camille didn't know if it could still be called dancing, this odd movement of her large man twirling her about the room as she did nothing but follow along. She thought maybe she wasn't keeping up well at certain times, but Bane was obviously thinking differently as he grasped onto her waist to keep her from falling. She felt stiff, felt even clumsier than what she already was, and didn't know if this could continue without some kind of spill. She looked down at their feet, wondering how this could even be working because of their difference in size, and looked back up when he scolded her. _

"_Don't distract yourself. Stop thinking so much. Just relax, and let me dance with you." _

_She looked at his face, decided to do as she was told, and then it felt different. The music was no longer unpleasant, but lovely. The movement's no longer hard, but carefree. And Bane's touch stopped feeling so demanding of her, but like what she felt when he would hold her at night. She stopped thinking, started relaxing, and simply flowed about as she followed his movements. _

_Bane felt the change in her body, and pushed her out softly so that he could twirl her body into a spin, watching the way her nightgown breezed around her hips and her bare feet keeping up with what he wanted her to do. He pulled her close again, felt triumph in the smile she gave him, and continued the dance. _

"_How is it that _you_ of all people know how to dance so well?" she asked him, trying not to feel uncertainty when he pulled her flush against him to spin them around with the music. _

"_In the pit, times passes slowly," he began, taking her hip to correct the alignment with his. "It was very boring, and I had a young girl to care for, to entertain so that she would not leave the cell in hopes of finding something more interesting to do in the midst of hell and danger. I would set Talia on my feet, and dance with her to keep her preoccupied. And as I told you, dancing is similar to combat. I simply know how to dance, and will teach you as well." _

_They danced some more until she finally got it and could flow with him almost perfectly, without any stumbles. She laughed when he spun her around repeatedly, a sound he rarely heard from her, a sound that felt like birdsong as her long hair wisped along her body. When he pulled her flush against him again, she rested her cheek on his chest, hearing the steady beat of his heart through his warm skin. "I like dancing with you," she commented softly. _

_He set his chin on top of her curly head. Talia had been a much better dancer than Camille. Talia had been much more graceful than Camille. _

_Bane pulled her into one last slow spin, pushed her into the crook of his arm and dipped her because he knew it would make her smile. And when she did, her beautiful face seeming to light up as she looked at him, he knew that he would rather dance with Camille before any other woman. _

* * *

With grieving came memories, and memories just more grieving. It felt like torture. Bane sat at the edge of the bed, his hands resting coolly on his thighs, and wondered when the torture would stop.

He didn't want to think about Camille. He didn't want to be reminded of the time he'd danced with her, didn't want to think of her smile when she'd done it somewhat successfully. He didn't want to sit here and remember her. Suddenly he wished that she would never enter his mind ever again. He wished he could erase her completely.

Bane wanted to forget her. Because forgetting her would stop this terrible grieving. This grieving that he was not supposed to be going through a second time.

When Camille had told him of Talia's death, Bane felt like his entire past had been ripped to shreds, that his purpose for the future would be nonexistent without her because she had consumed his life for as long as he could remember. And then Camille had become something else to him besides his maternal doctor, and suddenly the future was there. A future without loneliness for either of them. Talia's death had felt like a past gone to waste.

Camille's death felt like there really was no hope for the future.

He couldn't sleep, had been up for many hours instead of resting. He could barely sit on his bed let alone lay in it. His bed was now a horrible piece of furniture he wanted demolished immediately. He couldn't stand to look at it, to sit on it. He tried to keep his eyes on one spot in this very apartment, because everywhere he would look would be something of his dead woman. He couldn't sleep in this bed because he would turn over to see her pillow and the lipstick marks that stained it. He couldn't sleep here because he could only imagine all the times he'd hovered over her as her hands trailed down his scarred body. He didn't want to sleep, because he knew he would not sleep peacefully.

Bane realized that he felt lighter, and not in a good way, not in a way that felt like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. He couldn't feel his strength, couldn't feel the power of his body that weighed him down. He felt like he was wasting away, he discovered. He felt like he would waste away into nothing, that this… terrible grieving would shrivel him up and carry him away with the wind. He longed again to forget Camille. He never wanted to think of her ever again.

But she was all he _could_ think about.

And because she'd done this to him, he desperately wished he could hate her instead.

Maybe if he could keep telling himself that, he would actually feel it. Maybe if he constantly repeated in his mind _I hate her, I hate her_, then her memory would cease to exist. He could go back to the way things were before her. He could go straight back to cleansing the world.

_Habibi. My beloved. _

A life without Camille. A life without worry, without consideration. Without… this. What kind of life would that be? Bane sniffed out through his nose to prevent her scent from drifting to him again.

_What kind of life would he have now? _

The door to the apartment opened, and Barsad sauntered in. He knew the footsteps of his second, because they almost mirrored his own. Bane didn't move, hating himself that he felt like he couldn't, and waited as Barsad came to the side of him.

"The men await orders. Shall I tell them to continue their hunt for the clown?"

The clown. The Joker. He would have to take a backseat to the mob. When it came to the next step of action, Bane could only think of the Italians. Of Camille's mother who led them all. Bane shook his head, found that he couldn't look at his second because the unimportant spot he'd staring at since he walked into the apartment was safer than risking a glance at something that had been hers. "I want the mob destroyed. They take precedence over the clowns and the police. I want each and every man and woman within the mob terminated. Spare their leader. She is mine."

Barsad rarely spoke freely in times of business. But when it concerned something he knew to be personal, he couldn't help but disagree. "We must get rid of the clowns and the Nightwing first. The Joker is taking a piece of Gotham out each day, and the hero never stops hunting you. They are our biggest obstacles."

Bane felt his hands fist on his thighs. There was so much vengeance in his heart, he realized. He would kill the clown for all the trouble he caused him. He would kill the Nightwing for sending him back to the pit. But the mob… The mob had killed what was his. The mob had cut his rope. "Do as you are told," he muttered angrily. "I will not repeat myself."

Barsad sighed very softly so that Bane couldn't hear. He then glanced around the room, at all the girly things that belonged to the doctor, keeping Bane here now and bleeding from the wound of having her ripped apart from him. He would eventually have to talk his leader into getting rid of it all. But right now, he would allow for him to grieve for someone he shouldn't be grieving over in the first place. He gave Bane a nod to humor him, set his hand on his shoulder for an odd kind of comfort. "If that is what you want, brother."

Bane sat there for a second or two before shrugging his hand away. And Barsad didn't know how to feel about that.

After he left, and the silence was starting to annoy him, Bane finally turned around and looked at the pillows on the bed. A stripe of dark red smeared the whiteness of the pillowcase, the evidence that there really had been a woman to sleep there once before. Camille would sometimes forget to take her makeup off at night, and her constant tossing and turning would spread it all along the sheets. Bane suddenly had an image of her resting in that exact spot, the blankets wrapped around her naked body as she smiled sleepily over at him. Her voice drifted to him then, torturing him even further.

_I like dancing with you. _

The sight was then followed by her head snapping back from the force of a bullet.

_Say goodbye to me. _

But Bane couldn't say goodbye. And he wouldn't be able to until her death was avenged. Until the whole city was just as dead as she was.

* * *

Camille gasped loudly as she jolted awake, her head pounding from the knot on the back of her skull, the rest of her an aching mess from the previous night. She touched her head softly, feeling the lump there caused by the butt of a gun, and decided that it was the cause of the intense headache pumping behind her eyes. She reached behind to lift her body up from the laying position, and tried to gather herself. Her body hurt, her mouth stung, and she was alone. Alone because she was really dead.

It was then that every event that had happened last night bombarded her mind, causing her to gasp loudly and frantically look around.

She was in a cell, bars closing her off from the entrance to a dark hallway. There was nothing but the cot she was lying on and a toilet off to the side, no windows and no other door. The lights in the hallway flickered, the air cold and clammy because of the weather and the fact that this part was obviously not well taken care of. And as she looked around some more, she realized that she knew this place. She knew this place very, very well.

Her mother had brought her to Arkham Asylum.

Camille got off the cot slowly, feeling her muscles stiffen and ache, and walked closer to the bars, peering out of them as she glanced down the hallway.

The place looked a little different. Or maybe she'd just never been in this section before. She knew this level wasn't the level she'd worked on, and wondered how there was any inch in this place she hadn't been to. But this level was more worn out then the others. Camille tried to look in the cells around her, and the only people she could see were quiet and still, holding themselves in a ball at the corners of their cell, rocking back and forth as they practically foamed out of the mouth from their injections. She winced some, tried to remember if she knew of this place, of the conditions of these inmates, and couldn't recall a thing. The last time she'd been here she'd quit the job, leaving it behind so that she could return to Bane…

Camille leaned against the bars as defeat settled on her chest. She would never see Bane again. Even if he knew that she was still alive, he would never find her now. Bane thought she had been shot.

An image of him staring at the screen as Julie was shot in the head came to her. She had tried screaming to him but he hadn't been able to hear. The only thing he could do was watch as the woman who looked like her was killed. Even if Camille couldn't change the fact that she was here now, she knew she would give anything to spare him of that. Exactly what he feared had come to pass in his world.

And for a second time, Bane had lost someone close to him.

She wanted him. She missed him terribly. But she would never see him again because she was dead. Because nothing could save her now. Her mother had won, and she was trapped. Trapped inside her own place of work.

Camille heard a noise, something like a door opening and closing, followed by the thumping of feet nearing her. She then looked down at herself, saw that her shredded skirt and shirt had been taken off of her body and replaced with the standard grey scrubs, the same ones Bane had worn when he'd been committed. And right after she became aware of her new attire, she suddenly felt the grip around her neck. Reaching up, she realized it was some kind of collar.

Things had definitely changed here. Or maybe they hadn't, and she had just not realized it.

It could have been seen as ironic. But right now, it only felt awful.

The man who approached her was a guard, a huge man with a dark, scruffy beard she didn't remember. He told her to step back with her hands up, that he was taking her to her appointment with her doctor. He grabbed Camille roughly, told her that the collar wouldn't make her feel very nice if she struggled, and led her away. When he forced her into a chair in one of the old session rooms, Camille wondered if this was how Bane had felt as he was forced into going where the Asylum said he would go. She knew that she had tried to be as nice and as caring to him as she could so that she could help him.

But Camille didn't have someone like herself here. She even had a feeling that she would be treated worse.

The door beeped as the person who was her doctor scanned their hand behind it on the security panels. As it opened, Camille could only stare.

"Hello, Camille. So nice to have you back with us."

Jeremiah Arkham, her old boss, was her doctor. And he looked very pleased with that fact.

He looked almost the same, if not more primed and polished. His dirty blonde hair still had a distinguished cut, the rest of his facial hair either cleanly shaven or waxed to perfection. His designer glasses shown in the bright lights above, trying to mask the truth of one glass eye behind it. Camille didn't know much about what happened during his altercation with Bane, but she knew that her lover had taken half of Jeremiah's sight because of it. Not only had he suffered from a ruptured eyeball, but her former boss had had to go through extensive surgeries to repair his shattered cheekbone and other facial fractures caused by Bane.

She also knew that Jeremiah blamed her for everything that had happened to him. If she hadn't been so easily kidnapped, if Bane hadn't used her to escape, then his injuries, in his mind, never would have happened.

And that twisted joy that came with revenge was the reason for his smile now.

Her life was already over. She was a walking dead woman, one who had been stolen away and most likely could not escape on her own. So Camille only glared at him.

"I'm sure you'll enjoy your days with us here," Jeremiah continued, fiddling casually with the tie of his business tux as he took a seat across from her. "Things will be a tad different for you this time around. But rest assured that we will try to make you as comfortable as possible."

"You can't keep me here. The police are looking for me. As soon as they hear of this they'll come get me for questioning." And maybe then Bane would find out she was alive. A glimmer of hope travelled up her spine, a tiny glimmer that could be enough to get her through this. The police would report of her return, just like last time, and Bane would know. He would know she wasn't dead.

"Thought of the outcome already, have you? Yes, the police would come if they knew I had you. Which is why no one except for certain staff will know that you're here. Sure it's illegal, but…" He leaned forward, smirked at her some more. "I think you need the time here. After all you've been through. Don't worry, we'll tackle your mental issues together."

The glimmer then turned into dust floating away in the wind. A dead woman walking. That's what she was. "Did my mother bring me here?"

"Your mother is very worried about you, Camille. She and I have been doing business for a while now, ever since you fled the country with my former inmate Bane. She says you're so far gone that only the lowest level of the asylum will do for you. And I must say, looking at you now, I can't help but agree with her."

Camille held her glare, refusing to let the sad frown underneath it be shown. Her mother sending her here was horrible. So horrible because Alcina must have known how Jeremiah felt about her, and knew that he would comply. Now she was stuck in a level she hadn't even known about while working at the asylum. Now, who knew what would become of her. She was helpless. And she was utterly alone.

"You see, Camille," Jeremiah started, resting his hands on the table. "I have been an angry man. I'm angry because that brute deformed me, taking away half of my vision. And I'm angry at you, for all those years working here where you would act like a little _snot_ to me, questioning my decisions, disobeying them at times because you thought _better_. The both of you have caused me nothing but strife for a long time now. I'm here to finally get rid of it. I'll keep you here, Camille, and no one will ever find out. But, I will do you one favor." He reached underneath the table, grabbed his briefcase and the various papers inside it. "I've decided to treat you myself. Your mother wants a trained woman in you during your stay here. I think I can oblige her."

"You can hardly do anything to me," she answered lowly, keeping her eyes on his so that she could have just a small ounce of control. "The worst you can do is give me injections. Go ahead, do it. It'll spare me from having to look at you clearly."

He chuckled, shaking his head. "Oh, Camille, that temper is something I've been dying to beat out of you for years. I've never appreciated it, and I most certainly won't now that you belong to me. And since you're here illegally anyway, why not treat you illegally? The other inmates are given privileges that you won't have because, well… they have that pesky law behind their backs. You have nothing. So I think I can go with a more aggressive type of treatment. Maybe we can even involve your mother in your… recovery. Maybe, we can even administer shock therapy."

He gave her a knowing glance, telling Camille they were just going back to that time when he'd suggested the same type of treatment for Bane, and she'd been terribly against it. He'd said she was always disagreeing with him. Apparently he wanted to try all of his ideas out on the one person who had been against him the whole time. Nothing mattered to her anymore. And she was somewhat proud of herself when she remained calm.

"How would you like that, Camille? A little electroconvulsive therapy to whip you into shape? Ah, well, perhaps we'll revisit the issue, since I won't need a signed consent and all. Why don't we talk about your injuries for now? You don't look your most attractive. How many times have you been raped within the past year and a half, hmm?"

She didn't have to talk to him. And he would carry out his threats against her anyway. Camille didn't want to talk about anything. Especially anything having to do with Bane. Never would she speak about Bane to Jeremiah Arkham.

"You know what they say about you, I'm sure. Your story is very tragic. Kidnapped by your own patient, brutally raped by a monster, and then reworked in the mind so that you'd be his little plaything. Reminds me of someone. Oh, that's right. You're just like Harleen Quinzel, aren't you? Arkham's _other_ dirty little secret." Jeremiah normally didn't like speaking of Harley Quinn, only because his establishment had been the place where she was created. But he didn't care now, with Camille. Camille was just like the clown. And Camille would be punished in place of her. "How did it feel, Camille, when he was raping you? Did you cry? Did you try to fight him off? Of course no one would ever think you _enjoyed _it. Everyone is so very worried about you. They don't know the truth of the matter, like I do. Like your mother does. They don't know that you're nothing but a _monster whore_."

Jeremiah eyed her carefully, tried looking past her unwavering glare at him and hoping to see something a little sadder. And when he couldn't see it, when her angry gaze only intensified, it began to fuel his own.

"You forget who I was, Dr. Arkham," Camille murmured, her hands gripping each other underneath the table, the nasty cut along her mouth throbbing in her sneer and the collar chocking on her throat. "I've been in your position countless times. I know the game. I used to play it well."

There it was again, he thought angrily. There was that _stupid_ attitude he absolutely hated. Regrettably, he believed that he wouldn't be the one to break her. He could supply the right instruments and methods, of course. But Camille needed someone else. Camille Lane would need the one person who'd trained her from the past. He made a metal note to have a conference call with Alcina Angeli. She was, after all, quite a lovely and devious woman. One who could definitely hook the leash onto her collar and yank her along.

Jeremiah sat back, nodded at the guard to restrain her and pull her back to her cell. He went with them, walking alongside like he were the considerate doctor. He waved the guard off as soon as he pushed her inside and locked the bars, confining her in the lowest level of the asylum that hardly anyone knew of. It would be the perfect place to hold her.

Camille knew her mouth needed tending to, but she would be damned if she asked this man for anything. She would just have to figure something out on her own. Jeremiah stood at the bars watching her like she were an animal, his glass eye shiny and so very different, a reminder of his hatred towards her. Feeling uncomfortable, she nodded at the other cells.

"What have you done to them?" she asked, speaking of the inmates who were nothing but zombies now.

Jeremiah looked back, shrugged at them. "I call this the level of the lost causes. These are past inmates that couldn't be helped. So we locked them down here, keeping them drugged and completely useless. Out of the way. The high profile patients, the ones who generate publicity, like your Bane, were given proper accommodations compared to this. The lost stay here, Camille." He walked up closer to the bars, his hands in his pockets. His anger flaring with every second he stared at his former employee. "You tell me I forget who you were. But really, it's you who's forgotten. Your mother and I have discussed you extensively. And it's only a matter of time before you're that sad little girl again, sitting here in the dark and slicing your wrists." He looked at the nasty cut from her lips down to her chin, and inwardly winced from the work of another lost inmate of his. The one with the horrific smile. "And here, Camille, no one will be around to stop you. Try to get some rest. We have a lot of work to do."

Once he was gone, Camille lowered herself onto the cot, pulling her legs up to her chest and trying not to flinch from the constant ache in her beaten body. She wanted to tell herself to stay strong. But how could she do that now? How could she be strong when there was nothing to be strong for?

Bane thought she was dead. And her mother was back.

Camille leaned back until she was lying down, looked up at the ceiling because there was no window in her dark cell to look out of. She didn't want to think of Bane, but she did anyway. If she was going to think of him then she wanted to think of other things about him, besides the look on his face when he'd watched her die.

How was he feeling right now? What must he be thinking?

Bane didn't know that she was trapped in the very place where they first met. He didn't know that she would be given the harsh treatments she'd vetoed for him, taking everything for him because she would, because she would spare him of that in this strange way. After a few hours of thinking of him, Camille felt her eyes start to flutter, a good escape to the pain in her body and in her heart. She welcomed sleep. Welcomed it as she dreamed of him, as she could practically hear his voice and feel his touch.

Bane would have wanted her to be strong. But she just couldn't find it, not in the way that would help her. Camille imaged him on the cot with her now in her dreams, the soft hissing of his mask a comfort in the world they'd created together. The place where they first met would be the last place she would know of. But at least there was some kind of connection. Camille didn't know how long she'd been sleeping, but suddenly she could practically _feel_ in her dream. And she welcomed it more than any other sensation.

She could feel his hands on her body, and maybe it wasn't a good thing. She knew those hands, knew the way they moved, and felt a tighter clench in her chest that she would never feel them again. Her dreaming of him made her miss him even more, made her unbearably sad because to him, she was nothing but a corpse now. And to her, he was a distant memory. She could feel his hand along her thigh, travelling up and resting on her hip before moving upwards still. Over her stomach and her chest, making her sigh in her sleep as she convinced herself that she could live here, in her dream, if only so that she could stay in this very moment forever. His fingers went to her neck, fingertips only now as they travelled on. The hissing stopped, but she wanted it to come back. She wanted to hear nothing but that sound because that meant that she was not trapped, that she was not with her mother again. That sound meant she was free. Free and safe.

The fingertips then pressed against the cut on her mouth, and made her jolt awake as the sting bit her skin harshly.

She gasped and instantly covered her mouth with her hand, knowing she had to protect the wound to prevent infection before she could properly clean it. She scooted back until her spine hit the bumpy wall behind her, and looked up at the source of the sting.

Instantly she flinched, and hated that so many people from her past would be involved in her undoing.

"Jackson."

Jackson Lane stood in the cell with her, dressed for the weather in a long sleeved shirt and jeans. Camille stared at him, remembering the last time she'd seen him, the night she'd punched him and broke his nose. It was still crooked, would always be now, and Camille knew that he hated that most of all. She noticed he'd cut the brown ponytail she used to love, going now for a more rugged look because of his nose since he had no other choice.

Her ex-husband had been very vain. Apparently he would punish her for that, too.

"Jesus, look at you, Camille. You look really bad." He could hardly separate this woman with the one who had once been his wife. That woman before had been professional and poised, easygoing on the eyes to keep up with his social status. This woman before him now was horribly scarred and roughened up, her hair in total disarray to look just as out of place as the red slash covered in dried blood going from her spilt, bruised lip down her chin. Jackson had had to make sure that she'd actually been his ex-wife. Which was the only reason why he'd laid hands on her before.

Camille pulled her limbs against her scrubs, hating the fact that he'd been touching her while she slept. Just another horrible event that would happen here. "What are you doing here?"

"Dr. Arkham called me. They told me what happened to you and said that you missed me, that it would be a good idea for you to see me for recovery. Honestly though, it took a lot of convincing. If it hadn't been for your… condition, I don't think I would ever want to see you again. For what you did to me."

A swell of anger rose to the surface, that special kind of anger only reserved for her ex-husband. She had never wanted to see him again either, not since she finally let him go and rid him from her life altogether. And seeing him now, hearing the lies that had been told to him, she knew it was just meant to rile her. And it was working. "I don't have a condition, Jackson. You're just stupid enough to believe that I do. You're being lied to."

They'd also told him that she would try to make the situation seem like something it wasn't. Ever since she'd been kidnapped Jackson didn't think he could feel more sorry for her. But looking at her now, at the mess she was, he knew he'd been wrong. "Camille, I know it's been hard for you since the divorce. I know that you were on depression medication and that you went back to cutting yourself after we separated. But hitting me that night was very much uncalled for. And I think you should apologize. Dr. Arkham thinks it'll be good for your treatment."

More anger, and she rejoiced in it. Anything was better than feeling lost and alone, than longing for her lover who she would never see again. She held onto it, just as she did that night in his home, and slowly stood. "The only thing that's been hard for me is knowing I was once married to you."

A brief flash of fear fluttered over his sharp angled face. Jackson took a step back, not wanting a repeat of the night she'd broken his nose and disappeared again. "You can't hurt me. Dr. Arkham told me that collar around your neck will shock you if you try to. Or if you take one step off Arkham Asylum property. Just like a dog."

Camille stared at him, and knew that there would be nothing she could do to change the way he was, the way he thought. He would always treat her horribly, whether she was still married to him or not. And knowing that, understanding that, made her feel even sadder. Even Jackson, the man Bane had used as leverage against her to kidnap her, would never help her. Instead, he would make things worse for her now. "You know I don't belong here, Jackson," she said softly, reaching up to touch the collar around her neck. "You have to help me get out of here. Please. You have to tell the police where I am."

He shook his head pityingly. "No, Camille, this is for your own good. Your actions lately prove Dr. Arkham to be right. A normal person doesn't yell at people and hit them like you did to me. A sane person doesn't leave with terrorists. You need to stay here. You need to get help."

"Jackson, please, look at me. Look what they've done to me. How can they take care of me when they've hurt me themselves? Look at my mouth. Look at my face. I have a fucking _collar_ on, Jackson. How helpful is this?"

He held up a hand, mentioned for the gruff looking guard to open the cell and let him out. He'd done his part. And Camille wasn't yet ready to face the consequences of her actions towards him. "You're sick, Camille. Very sick. And Dr. Arkham told me that no one else gave you those injuries except for Bane. They know he beats you, among other things. And you need to come to terms with that."

"Jackson." She limped to the bars, wrapped her arms around them and watched as he walked down the hallway, too oblivious to even understand how terrible the conditions were down here. "Please, tell the cops where I am. I'm not crazy." Once he was gone, Camille felt herself sinking again. Sinking possibly to that dead woman Bane believed her to be. "I don't belong here," she whispered, and slumped down to the floor.

Arkham Asylum had become a nightmare since her leave. They'd changed things, things like illegal inmates, an unkempt level, and security collars. And Jeremiah Arkham only wanted revenge for his ruined face, and his shame. She was lost down here. Lost within lies and corruption, and the tight grip her mother had around the city. She didn't know what to do. Didn't know how she could survive this. Maybe real death would be a better option than this.

Camille jumped when the speaker at the corner of the ceiling shrieked to life, sending the loud, annoying sounds of static vibrating along the walls and floor. And then she heard a voice coming from them, a special voice just for her in her lonely, dank cell.

"Be a good girl for mommy during your stay here, baby girl. I told you it was time to go back into the hole. And you're there, Camille. All the way down in that special hole I've made just for you."

Camille closed her eyes shut and covered her ears with her hands, trying to block out her mother's voice from the speakers, trying to give herself some kind of peace. But she wouldn't stop. For what felt like hours her mother talked to her constantly over the sound system, reminding her of what her life had been, telling her that it would be that way again. All alone in the dark, with no one but mommy to take care of her. But even through that, she tried to fight. Tried so hard to remember Bane's words to her, because they were the only weapons she had now. Her body was weak and hurt and her wisdom useless, but she could use her memories. She could remember what he'd told her.

_You are a woman now, Camille. Not a child. _

She was a woman. She was a woman. Things weren't how they used to be. She'd survived her mother once, she could do it again. She could, she could.

"You know I love you, Camille. You know you were always such a good girl to me. I told you to be quiet about my work, and you were. My baby girl. It's okay to feel sad. It's okay to feel alone. It's best that you stay that way."

_A woman. A woman, and not a child. _

Camille tried. For hours she tried. But all she could hear was her mother's voice. All she could see behind her closed eyelids was Bane watching her die. And all she could feel were the scars along her body. She'd told Jeremiah that she could play the game. But her mother had always been an opponent she could never defeat.

_A woman_.

A dead woman.

Up in the control room, with the security monitors on and showing Camille huddled on the floor, Jeremiah and Alcina smiled, each feeling a sense of power different from the other. One came with revenge and the other the gathering of what had been taken away for just a short while. Alcina switched off the speakers and the microphone, watched as Jeremiah turned off the air conditioning to Camille's level. It may be cold outside, but without central air it would begin to get very uncomfortable down there for her. Hot and clammy, just like the hole. Just like old times.

Alcina grinned when Jeremiah took her hand, and gave it a soft kiss.

* * *

He'd grieved once before. He hadn't handled it well then, and almost liked to think that he was handling it better now. With change came wisdom. He'd said that once. He had experience, and the kind of work he did made death an everyday occurrence. He should be used to this by now. He would never, ever feel it again, but he still should be used to it.

Bane honestly didn't know what he was doing.

There was so much to do. And he knew he couldn't rest properly until it was all completed. The mob would be destroyed, followed by the clowns, followed by the entire city that did nothing but take and take away. Over and over again until all that was left was dust and blood. This place should have never existed, he thought. Ra's al Ghul should have succeeded in its demise a long time ago.

Maybe he never should have come here in the first place.

Bane sat inside one of the vehicles, just sitting there staring out of the windshield in the driver's seat, wondering when he could move on, when he could finally think of something to do instead of having Barsad or the others tell him of their deeds for the day. It had just been over twenty-four hours and Bane felt like this… strange void had been going on for a lifetime. Talia had taken a little while to get over completely, but he had known what he had to do, and had jumped right back into his work as soon as circumstances had allowed him.

Bane felt like it couldn't do anything. He felt like something was keeping him from doing anything other than what was causing him restlessness. He felt like he couldn't go into the apartment, felt like he couldn't even go into the factory itself. And all he could think of was that he should have left a long time ago. He never should have helped Talia with her plan to destroy Gotham, should have never set foot in this cursed city. If he hadn't, he could be doing other things. Maybe Talia would have died succeeding in her cause.

And he never would have been sent to an asylum. He never would have met Camille.

He wished it were so.

And now, as he felt her next to him, that clinging force that wouldn't leave him alone for mysterious reasons, he wished he could just submit to it. He knew little Talia was sitting next to him in the truck even before she spoke, that otherworldly presence about her that was his subconscious plaguing him like a constant disease. The last time he'd dreamed of her, she'd told him that Camille would die, that she would have to if he were to ever belong to her again. He didn't want to think that it was just the truth in a vision coming to pass.

But it had. And he didn't know how to make her go away this time. Bane kept his eyes looking out of the windshield, but he couldn't close off his hearing to her little voice.

"_They have the power to shut the sky, that no rain may fall during the days of their prophesying, and they have the power over the waters to turn them into blood and to strike the earth with every kind of plague, as often as they desire._" He could feel her smiling, calmly sitting next to him in the passenger's seat with her tiny hands in her lap. "That is my favorite verse. The Bible is full of such lovely words, isn't it?"

No distractions, Bane thought to himself, trying not to sink in the truth of it. Not anymore. There was no one to save him now.

"You should have listened to me, my friend. Maybe if you had gotten rid of her you could have been spared of her death. But your selfishness has caused you suffering. A plague," she added, and he could hear her shifting closer. "Your sky has been shut. There is no rain to soothe you now. But… at least you still have the sun. You still have me. And I forgive you. My protector."

Bane didn't move when she sat on her knees next to him, and kept very still when she wrapped her arms around his neck from the side. No rain, he repeated in his head. And hated that she could possibly hear his thoughts because she _was _his head. No rain, and only the burning sun left for him now.

"You never got to kiss me," she whispered to him, her soft, small lips pecking the straps of his mask along his face. "But I know you wanted to. I know you wanted to rip this mask off and taste my mouth. Just like you used to do to her. Before she began to rot."

He shut his eyes, and repeatedly told himself for the millionth time that little Talia and adult Talia were two different people to him. Two different lives. Two different loves. But with every second she touched him, knowing that he couldn't escape her because of his now severed rope, he could feel himself losing to her. Binding him to her just like before.

"You can kiss me now," Talia murmured, reaching up to brush her fingers along the metal tubes. "Just take it off. Take it off and kiss me…"

She was nothing but a part of his mind torturing him. Nothing but a hallucination caused by conflicting feelings still deep inside him. So how could she be saying that to him now? What would it mean in reality if he took off his mask? Bane knew, and he would never allow it. This grieving was causing him to think irrationally. This horrible void making him feel a certain way that he shouldn't. If he took off the mask, he would have no life.

The mask kept him alive. Perhaps a part of his mind didn't want to remain so.

_Say goodbye to me. _

Her voice. He could hear her, past the girl, past the slight temptation of never having to feel this way again. Camille had wanted him to say goodbye to her, something he hadn't been able to do because he wouldn't allow the real truth in those words to become reality. Talia was here now, and pulling him down. Pulling him all the way back into the pit. His distraction was gone, but maybe he could still use her. Maybe he could still use a severed rope to climb.

Bane swiftly jumped out of the truck as the image of little Talia faded, her touch ceasing to yank him back to her old ways. With a determined stride he headed straight for the apartment, the scent of Camille still lingering in the air and making him choke. Instantly he went to the bed, her side with her pillow, her stained pillow from her lipstick. He stood and stared, pushed Talia back as she tried to claw her way to him again. He lifted his hand, ran his fingertips down the faint colors that had been from her mouth. The very mouth he had kissed.

_Say goodbye to me. _

He knew he was suffering because of his last image of his woman. The only thing he could remember was the way her head had reeled back from a bullet, the way blood had erupted from her skull. The way her dead body had sprawled out on the asphalt as life left her instantly. He didn't want that to be the last image he had of her. He didn't want to see her face that way…

Bane took in a sharp breath, his mask hissing and clicking. He gripped the pillow in a hard fist as the shooting once again replayed in his mind.

He hadn't been able to see her face.

He would refuse to think of it as hope. He would refuse to think of what had happened to Camille as anything but the truth, because he could possibly relive it again if he thought otherwise. But a desperate need to see the dead body rose within him, if only so that this time he could see Camille. He could be given peace from that, because the way he was feeling now was anything but peaceful. She'd told him to say goodbye to her. And now… he suddenly had to make sure that it would be _her_ he would say goodbye to.

Bane decided then that he had to see her. Her already dead face would be more of a comfort to him than a bullet entering her forehead as she called out for him. And even while he held onto that truth, held onto it because finding it out again would be just as painful, something wasn't sitting right with him. Something that felt like a mistake. Something that felt like a lie. Talia had said she was rotting.

Death wasn't the only way to rot. Bane immediately stormed outside the factory, mentioning for about three men to follow him.

_He hadn't been able to see her face. _

**TBC**

**A/N: You all blew me away with the number of reviews for the last chapter. I hope to hear from all of you again. I can't thank you enough, my darlings. A couple of fun facts for you, especially those who don't know the Batman comics very well. Tony Zucco is a real Batman character. He's supposedly the one who killed Robin's parents at the circus. And the Joker's scar story from the last chapter is one of his many origins, a disturbed little boy out causing havoc with a smile. Review for Bane and Camille's reunion. If they ever reunite… Dun dun dun! **


	19. Together Again

_**Amaranthine**_

**Chapter 19**

**Together Again**

"_I've found a world where love and dreams and darkness all collide. Maybe this time, we can leave our broken world behind. We'll be together again. All just a dream in the end." – Evanescence _

Bane hated the term _bittersweet. _He hated it because it was so confusing, so unclear when he was so very cut and dried. He didn't like when something felt relieving and terrible at the same time. He didn't like that kind of confliction, that way of feeling so unsure that it caused so much… misery. Feeling bittersweet about something was never really good. The negative usually overpassed the positive, that one half you thought of more because everyone always focused on the undesirable over that small sliver of positivity.

And as he and his men made their way to the warehouse where he'd last had any contact with Camille, Bane decided that this moment was very bittersweet indeed.

The doubt settling in his chest felt like an itch he couldn't scratch. And because of that, he couldn't decide whether seeing the dead body of his woman would feel horrifying or relieving. He wasn't sure if he wanted to scratch that itchy doubt, because seeing Camille dead and gone could either help him or cause him to feel worse. Relief or grief. Which one would help him? Which one would make this feeling go away? Would he go on a massive search for his missing soldier or eliminate everyone who'd had a hand in her death? Would he continue to be alone, or have a chance at continuing to be half of that whole he'd been growing so used to?

It was all so bittersweet.

He hadn't wanted to drive. But even now, even with something as simple as who would drive was causing that unsatisfying bittersweet feeling. Bane hadn't wanted to drive because he didn't want to speed up the process of reaching their destination. But he also couldn't help but feel the intense need to snarl at the driver for not speeding on the highway so that he could be given some kind of closure to something that probably meant nothing. Something that would only keep him in this void he couldn't seem to crawl out of. So much confliction. So much confusion.

He hated it.

But he had to know, knew that he could never rest again if he didn't put himself through this. Seeing Camille get shot had had a rather horrible effect on him. Who knew what seeing her dead body would feel like? Who knew if he could handle it? He couldn't know, even though he had experience in the matter of death. He couldn't know, because even after Talia had died and he'd been torn apart, he had never seen her dead. Had never seen that broken body Camille had told him of.

A road untraveled. And Bane had always been the type of man who liked knowing where he was going.

They approached the warehouse, and he couldn't decide if it was a means to an end or the most horrible place he would ever revisit. Then finally, after so much debate with himself, Bane drained whatever was causing the confliction inside himself, and let everything become just as dull and meaningless as he could. He wanted to go on autopilot. He didn't want to be a creature of reactions and emotions. So he forced himself to become flat, emotionless. They got out of the truck, headed for the back of the building.

Bane figured the lack of emotion could help him through this.

The warehouse had been deserted after the fight with the mobsters and mercenaries. No doubt the mob had found a new place of operations, somewhere Bane couldn't find them and rip them all to shreds. Trash had been tossed here and there, the messy congestion of the homeless already taking whatever supplies or technology had been left across the dark, empty space. Not one sound was heard, save for the very distant wail of the ever present sirens of Gotham City, and that of a stray cat mewing for someone to give him food. After they finally reaching the back of the warehouse, his men following dutifully behind him as the leather of his jacket squeaked with his movements, Bane spotted the dumpster against the brick of the wall.

This was the place where Camille had been shot. And the dumpster in front of him now was where they'd thrown her body.

Bane kept himself distant and uncaring. It was probably the one act that would help him. This is closure, he told himself, mentioning for his men to get to work. This was the end. This was goodbye.

Camille had once told him she liked to prepare for the worst. Maybe she'd been right all along.

Bane waited patiently as the men took out long black gloves from their pockets, sliding them over their hands all the way up to their elbows. He couldn't be bothered with their names, but their faces were familiar to him, their loyalty to him going back to his days in India with Camille. And handling the dead was something that one would have to get used to when working for him. Climbing into a dumpster to retrieve a body was hardly the worst thing they'd ever done. So, as casual as they could be, with a few muttered curses during the process, Bane watched as one jumped into the big dark green dumpster, only doing so after they spotted their target beforehand with a flashlight. The other two waited outside the dumpster so that they could pull the body from the trash. A few minutes of conversation in Arabic followed before Bane spotted a limb.

He kept his distance as his men pulled the body out, trying to be careful but not too careful at the same time, if only so that they could touch the waste as less as possible. A stiff jumble of limbs and hair came from the dumpster. One mercenary hissed when the liquids from the trash made his hands slippery, almost causing him to lose the body and land right at his feet. Until finally they set it on the concrete, stepping away with their elbows to their noses and an intense need to take a shower. They walked back to the truck to dispose of some of their own clothing and the grimy gloves, leaving Bane alone.

And he could only stare. With nothing but the moonlight and one lone flickering street lamp to light the way, he stared and stared and stared.

Bane steadily breathed into his medicine, the hissing flow the only comfort he would possibly ever be given now. It looked like Camille, he decided, trying to block out the bullet, the blood. From what he could see, it looked like her. Death had changed the body some, he concluded. Her skin was dark gray, everything else stiff and bloated. The clothing on her was black and tattered, chunks taken out here and there as various animals and insects fed off the fabric and burrowed inside. The smell was horrible, a disgusting mixture of death, old blood, and trash. And her hair, Bane saw, was a nest for that trash, long, stringy tendrils matted with blood and other fluids. It covered the face, stuck to the skin. Became a mask to the truth. Bane continued with his observations, trying to treat this thing as a worthless object before anything else. He didn't care about sensitivity. He only cared about comfort. Comfort for himself.

Even with the bloating decomposition brought, Bane could see that the length was about right. The various dips and curves of the body matching that of his woman, the hair color only more confirmation. Bane forced himself to take a few steps forward, closer to the truth. Closer to a nightmare. And then he stopped, and couldn't even describe what he was suddenly feeling as he stared at this object.

She had been so beautiful once, in any way, at any time. Bane had never thought her less so from when he'd first seen her to the very last moment. From the night Camille had cut her thigh in depression, or the first time she'd smiled at him. He pictured that smile now because he couldn't stop the image. At the time, she was leaving him and yet she was still giving him that pretty smile.

_You and I… we're the same. _

The same. They were the same person in a different life. She was the one who'd saved him, who'd cared for him. Bane then remembered their conversation about marriage one very late night that felt like a lifetime ago. She was the one he would ask if he could. And she was the one who would have said yes. He took a couple more steps closer, remembering her, saying goodbye to her. The scars along her body had been just as beautiful to him, something that made them even more alike. Marks of pain and suffering on both of them that had healed into what had become wisdom and understanding. Her scarred wrists and his scarred back. He raked his eyes all along the dead body at his feet, knowing that this was not the woman he'd once known because there was nothing but death here.

And then his eyes stopped and his jaw clenched. The hissing stopped along with his breath, the rest of him ceasing to move because movement seemed impossible. His gaze burned hard into the body, his eyes refusing to blink, only able to stare. He crouched down slowly, so very slowly because suddenly reality didn't feel like it existed anymore.

With a swift hand he reached for the arm, yanked it up hard and didn't bother with the sickening _crunch_ the limb made from movement. He gripped the elbow, and saw what was there. Or what wasn't.

Just dead skin. Unmarked, dead skin. And nothing else.

No scars.

Bane removed his hand from the arm, not caring for the disturbing way it stayed where he'd held it because of stiffening decomposition. His eyes hastily went to the head, and the messy ball of matted black curls covering it completely, a mixture of blood and brains. Suddenly he forgot everything. Suddenly, all that mattered was what would be behind those curls. If there were no scars along the forearms of this body, then would Camille's face still be there? Death didn't change certain attributes. Death didn't turn you into a whole different person. If there were no scars…

Then how could this still be Camille?

Bane lifted his hand, held it in the air almost hesitantly. He couldn't remember a time in his life that had been more important than this one moment, this one truth. But he would live in the truth now. Because it was very possible… that he had been lied to. That he had been deceived. His hand descended onto the curls, feeling the coarse hair, the grime embedded in it from an entire day of death. But past that, he felt something that was different. He'd gripped Camille's curls every night for as long as they'd been sleeping together. And these curls… These curls didn't feel the same. Almost tenderly, he began brushing the hair away from the face, one strand at a time, his eyes instantly going to the hole in the middle of the forehead from a bullet once it became visible. He'd seen Camille be shot…

This was not Camille.

_He hadn't been able to see her face. _

Bane's eyes widened as he glanced down at a different woman, a woman he had never seen before. A woman who'd died for a lie. He didn't care about who this woman was. All he could think was that she was not _his_. Bane bolted up, stared at the body some more. The body he didn't know.

Camille's mother had tried to make him believe that his woman had been killed. She had used deception. She had used trickery. And she was the reason for his grieving, that terrible twenty-four hours he'd suffered believing a lie.

And, Bane thought, as he felt that wonderful anger, that feeling that was something other than what he'd been going through, Alcina Angeli still had Camille. Somewhere. Bane glared and fisted his hands tightly. He didn't know where Camille was, but he would find her. He didn't know where to start, but any place would be acceptable. He didn't know if she was still alive at this moment in time, but he would find out for sure.

And he would tear this city apart until all of those questions were answered.

* * *

On the lost level of Arkham Asylum, in a separate room so that the other drugged up inmates would not be frightened, loud, piercing screams rushed down the hallways, vibrated the doors, and shook the walls. When breath would run out, the faint sound of buzzing could be heard, the lights overhead flickering from use of electricity.

And then the screams would start again.

Camille was screaming.

Jeremiah Arkham, dressed in another one of his work tuxes, had his arms crossed as he watched her, periodically glancing at the controls to the side of him, checking her vitals at the same time. The belts that were usually wrapped around the head for shock therapy had been moved to her upper arms, the electrodes that would emit the shocks underneath the belts and against her skin as she was strapped to a chair. The whole purpose of electroconvulsive shock therapy was to induce seizures to anesthetized patients for positive effects, a means of treatment for people most specifically suffering from severe depression, schizophrenia, and catatonia. But used in a different way on a different setting, and placing the electrodes on the arms instead of the head where the brain would be affected, electroconvulsive shock therapy was a great way to learn something from someone. And to punish.

He'd had Camille for a couple of days now, and she had refused to cooperate with him, keeping silent whenever he would ask her a question about Bane, a question that would give an answer he could use to assist the police in their search for him, and ultimately giving him more fame and notoriety for helping them in their capture of the mercenary. But no matter what he'd said, no matter what he'd threatened, those lips had remained shut. He'd given her something similar to garbage for food, hardly any water, and let her sleep in a cell without air conditioning, making the conditions where she was hot and muggy and uncomfortable. He'd told her that if she didn't start sharing with him that he would administer the shock therapy that had been meant for Bane all along. And still she would simply sit there, glaring at him with her red, sweaty face, her dark and shadowed eyes.

And when his patience had disappeared, he knew it was time to bring out the equipment. And Alcina had given her consent with nothing but an anticipating smile.

After the next minute, Jeremiah flipped the switch and cut off the current, sneaking a peak at the red welts gracing her arms from the heat of the shocks. Her head dropped as she caught her breath, her gray scrubs dampening from sweat. "You know, Camille, I absolutely hate seeing you this way. But it really is for your own good, as a victim of rape and post-traumatic stress disorder. I'm only trying to help you and you're not doing your part. Now I will begin the questioning again. If you refuse to cooperate you know what the outcome will be."

Her hands were shaking, and she could feel her mother around somewhere, watching her, watching this. The shocks had stopped but she could still feel pain, white hot pain travelling through her body like blood, making her head feel dizzy from it. But she knew the controls were not set high enough for her to pass out. It was set in that appropriate spot that would cause her to endure it all wide awake.

"How old were you when you got married, Camille?"

She took a few more deep breaths, the tears at the corner of her eyes remaining there because she would refuse to allow them to fall. Maybe if she answered these questions she wouldn't be hurt. Maybe she could be a good girl and simply go back to her hot, humid cell without the belts around her arms. She swallowed some, somehow feeling relieved that the collar had been removed for her therapy instead of choking her throat. "Twenty," she answered shakily.

"Did you try to conceive children with your ex-husband Jackson Lane?"

"Yes," she whispered.

Jeremiah looked over to the mirror behind him, smiled at it to Alcina on the other side, watching them. "Your mother needed your help when you were younger, Camille. Why did you leave her for a man?"

Camille shook her head, knowing something was wrong with the wording. But she was so very tired. "She was mean to me. She never loved me. She kept me in a hole."

"Your mother gave birth to you, and needed you. And you still left her. Was it too much to ask for some help, Camille? Did your mother mean so little to you that you deserted her in her time of need? Leaving her with your four younger brothers just so you could get married to a man who ultimately divorced you?"

Her chin trembled, and suddenly she felt like a teenager. Again. "I had to leave."

Jeremiah stepped in front of her, leaning down some to stare at her right in her black eyes, her hair curling around her face. "You felt bad, didn't you? After a while you felt bad for leaving her. What would your mother do without you? How could she get by without your help? Admit it, Camille. You'll feel better when you do."

There had been a time when she'd felt exactly like that. There had been a time when returning had held too much temptation. "I did."

"You cut yourself."

"Yes."

"You would feel like you couldn't handle the situation and bring a knife into your bedroom."

"All the time."

"Where is Bane hiding, Camille?"

Instantly she closed her mouth. Before, her answers felt like they would save her. Now, she felt a wave of protection, and wasn't quite sure why. But that masked man in her memory could not be spoken of. He was just an image in her head whenever she would fall asleep, and she would keep him safe. She knew what the outcome would be, she told herself. But when it came to _him, _she would say nothing.

Jeremiah tried again, wondering if he still had her where he wanted her. Hoping that it was just a miscommunication. "Bane, Camille. The masked mercenary of Gotham City. Where is his base and how can we take him down?"

Still silence. Camille closed her eyes, and knew she was being bad again. Her mother was around here somewhere, and she was being bad.

"How many men are within his army? Is he constructing another bomb? What are his plans for the city, Camille? Answer me and you can go back to your cell. Answer any one of those questions and I will unstrap you and have a nurse tend to you. I will even allow you some clean water to drink. Where is the mercenary Bane hiding?" he asked sternly.

That man in her memory was the only good thing she could think of. That man who had felt so good, who had held her so tight, was someone she would never speak of. That rope that had once pulled her out of the hole. That other half that had once made her feel complete. And Camille knew that she would never talk about him with anyone. He was her secret person. That person only she would know of and remember.

A rush of anger flooded Jeremiah. His mouth pursed hard and his waxed brows furrowed. He could get any answer out of her using the shock therapy and conversation of her mother. Except this. Except for this one subject. The most important one. And it was infuriating. "One last chance," he muttered, waited.

Camille kept her head bowed. And said nothing.

He was a man above acting savagely and growling. But if he was not that kind of man, he would have done so and slapped her across the face for her misbehavior. Instead, he calmly flipped the switch to the machine.

And Camille began to scream all over again.

Behind the mirror, Alcina shook her head and sighed. With her hands on her hips, she watched as her daughter was punished for her unhelpfulness. The whole purpose of this was to get answers about Bane, leading to his termination and disgrace once again. But their one puzzle piece in the form of the monster's lover was proving to be ineffective. Smoothing a hand down her silky silver top and her white leather pants, Alcina wondered if they would have to up their game. Camille was useful in some way, she could see it. And simply having her daughter now was not something she cared for without some kind of use beyond that. But making Bane's life even more miserable than what she'd already accomplished was enough to keep her around. Enough to torture him in knowing that the very woman he thought dead was with her right now.

Alcina had wanted to kill Bane for threatening her with a bomb. But making him suffer this way was proving to be more fun before she would do away with him for good.

This was all about Bane. Alcina would never allow Camille to have any kind of spotlight.

Her Kate Spade bag atop of the table next to her rang to life. Reaching inside, Alcina retrieved her cell phone and checked the number. It was listed as _Unknown_. Usually she never took such calls. But her curiosity piqued, and she hit the answer button. "Yes?" she asked sweetly.

"How long did you think I would fall for your little tricks?"

Alcina's brows rose. Usually she was prepared for everything, staying one step ahead of everyone else because that was what you needed to do if you were run the mob. But this turn of events surprised her. The deep, mechanical voice on the other end was most likely meant to intimidate her. Instead, it intrigued her. "Hello, Bane. How did you get this number?"

"You are not the only one who can make untraceable phone calls. And I am not a stupid man. I have paid you a call of service to inform you that your trickery has failed. I will also politely tell you that you may add extra men to your security, although it will be useless. I will find Camille, and take her away again."

"Oh, Bane," she sighed sadly, brushing the threats over without a worry. "Camille is dead."

"I will believe you only when I see her true body."

"And what if that is no longer an option? What if she is dead and gone, never to be seen again? You will have nothing but my word to go on. And a continuous empty spot on the bed beside you."

"I refuse to believe you now because no one can spot a liar like another liar," he said, keeping his voice calm. Calm and angry. "The city as you know it now will come to a terrible suffering of fire, death and destruction. Your organization, your contacts, everything you hold with a controlling hand will be taken from you and eradicated. I have called you now to warn you to prepare yourself. I will tear this city apart brick by brick until I find her. And then, I will find you."

Slowly but surely, the playfulness eased away. Usually she didn't feel bothered with threats. But hearing this monster's words against her now was causing nothing but irritation. She reminded herself that she was the one in control, that she steered Bane in any direction she chose because she was in charge. Alcina glanced over at Camille, strapped to a chair and catching her breath again, the angry cut on her face no doubt inflicting more pain. "You can't threaten me," she said lowly, already planning methods of attack. "I have a secret weapon. A secret weapon in the form of a clown. And he will be happy to play with you. Just as he did with Camille before she may or may not have died." She had not felt anger in a while. There had never been anything to be angry about, considering that all her wants and wishes were attended to in a perfect fashion. But she could feel it building now, starting off as a slow simmer before it began to boil, and burn.

The news of the Joker did not surprise Bane. It only gave him more incentive. Now he would do away with the clowns and the mob at the same time. And refuse to think of what he'd done to Camille. "I will very much enjoy hunting you. And your sweet protector will be unsuccessful, as will your secret weapon. Darkness speaks to darkness, Mrs. Angeli, and I see through all your lies. It is only a matter of time before I destroy everything around you."

"Go ahead and try," she hissed through clenched teeth, forgetting her exercises to keep her anger under control. "You have no idea who you are dealing with. You forget that _I_ am the one who sent a _rat_ right under your nose. And trust me, it was not so hard to do it a second time."

"A minor annoyance," Bane muttered, keeping his own anger under control perfectly through his voice at the mention of another traitor.

"Is it really? Is it going to be so _minor_ for you when you're questioning each and every one of those _pathetic_ men who are so loyal to you? I would _laugh _at your face if you ever find the second rat. Our species _eat_ the wounded ones. Camille may be dead, and only _I _know the truth. Just as only I know who has betrayed you."

Bane was used to this. He'd seen many traitors in his lifetime. And just like all the others, the newest one would be taken care of by his own hand. He wasn't worried in the least. "Send the clowns to my door," he murmured darkly. "And I will send them right back to you as dead as your last rat before I come for you. But first I will find what is mine. I hope, for your sake, you've hidden her well."

Bane disconnected. And Alcina was left in a rage.

How _dare_ that monster speak to her that way? How dare he think he had any ounce of control, when she controlled everything having to do with this city? Bane would not come after her until he had Camille back. Looking over at her daughter again, at her state, Alcina was confident that no one would ever find her again. Slowly but surely she was being transformed back into her girl that did everything for her. Alcina knew it, because who else could possibly withstand this type of treatment? Bane efforts would be useless, she told herself in comfort. He could not go up against the mob, the Joker, the Gotham police, and the Nightwing all at the same time, all different parties out to apprehend him or execute him. It would be impossible for him, and she would make sure he failed miserably. He wanted Camille back? He so very much wanted someone so insignificant and nowhere _near_ as great as herself with him again? Alcina tapped on the screen of her cell phone to make another call, waited patiently for an answer.

Camille was not worth it, she reminded herself. Camille was not worth it because Camille had always been _worthless. _

Alcina slowly breathed herself back to calmness, made a mental note to have her yoga room set up for stress relief. The phone clicked as it was picked up. "Luis, Bane contacted me and has made some unacceptable threats towards me. He is after my daughter. Put him on a misleading trail."

"What about the traitor? Shouldn't that be his job?"

"Not at all. He has done his part and serves no other purpose to us. The terms of our agreement stand. And find someone to fix my phone line. I don't want any other unexpected calls."

"Of course," Luis nodded. "I also should inform you that Tony Zucco is dead. Bane got to him before he came for your daughter."

Alcina clenched her jaw, refused to think of Bane's words to her. Refused to believe them. So she brushed the death over, and knew that she was still covered. "Clean up the mess, then. I am with Camille, Luis. I'm not to be disturbed when spending quality time with my child."

Luis smiled as she hung up on him. He'd always loved her sense of humor.

Alcina tossed her phone into her bag, reaching up afterwards to fluff her short, curly black hair. She looked through the mirror, saw Jeremiah gesturing to her. Therapy was up, she saw. Camille was being unstrapped from the equipment, and taken back to her hot cell for the rest of the day. There was only so much time the shock therapy could be administered on her. Otherwise, they could possibly permanently damage her or even cause her heart to fail. Knowing that wasn't an option for either her or Jeremiah, they had to stop after a certain point. Alcina calmly made her way down to the level where Camille was being held, and waited patiently as her daughter was tossed in before the bars were lowered from the ceiling. She let out a soft breath and fanned herself some, already feeling slight perspiration on her upper lip from the heat here. No air conditioning, she thought. How primitive, but how perfect for the animals in their cages?

Camille instantly dropped to the dirty floor next to her cot, placing her hands on top of it and willing for them to stop shaking. Her upper arms were burning from the electrodes, causing the skin there to become red and inflamed. The collar was once again back around her neck, and already she could feel the effects of the humidity. Her throat was dry, her stomach empty. The cut on her mouth was stinging and the bruises on her body were still aching.

But she considered this last round successful. There were certain things she wouldn't talk about, and she'd remained quiet.

Now she just wished her mother would go away so that she could go to sleep.

"Look at me, Camille. Let me see my baby girl's face."

She didn't want to look at her mother. Instead, she brushed her sweaty curls off her forehead and turned to face her anyway. She kept her eyes on Alcina's polished white heels, already feeling the heavy shame pulsating in her chest.

"I'm not sure if you deserve your reward, young lady. You weren't very helpful to mommy today."

Camille frowned. Usually, after every session of her shock therapy, she was given a large bowl with water and a rag to clean up. The water was murky and the rag just that, but it was still something. She needed that small something to continue to clean the cut on her mouth and to wash her body. "You promised."

Alcina nodded. "I did. But just imagine the rewards you would get if you told us what we wanted to know. Maybe we could turn the air back on. Maybe you could eventually be removed from this place and come live with me again. Would you like that, Camille? To leave here? All you have to do is answer those important questions. All you have to do is be my good baby girl."

It would be so easy, Camille thought, resting her cheek on the cot. All she had to do was tell them about the masked man. All she had to do was tell them everything about the life she used to have with him. They already knew everything else about her, but they didn't know about that. They didn't know the masked man had once bandaged her up when she took a blade to her thigh in depression and anxiety. They didn't know he'd taught her how to defend herself. And they didn't know he needed her, just so that there would be someone to take care of him when no one else had ever done the job for him before. He was special. He was important. It would be so easy, she thought again.

She would rather die than give them any kind of leverage over her masked man.

"Ah, well. I suppose you can have your present today. Don't ever think that mommy didn't do anything nice for you."

Alcina nodded to the timid nurse holding the bowl outside the bars. She was one of those nurses who had everything to lose if she no longer had this job. So keeping it meant absolutely everything. And that meant keeping quiet about their illegal inmate. The nurse pressed the passcodes on the panel outside Camille's cell, waited for the bars to rise before quickly setting the bowl on the floor and returning the bars to the ground. She scurried away, blending in with the shadows as all the other nurses did and were expected to do. Alcina gave a big sigh, fanned herself some more from the muggy heat. She really wanted to leave. She had so many things to do, so many meetings to show her face at and so many people to entertain. And even with the busy schedule, she rather enjoyed it much more than being the lonely housewife and mother she used to be. That is, until Camille totally took over the job after Alcina was done having her children. She wanted to leave Arkham Asylum, but instead she stood in the same spot, watching her daughter slowly reach for the bowl. Camille's movements were sluggish as she soaked the rag and began washing her face, minding her split bottom lip and gash below it.

What did Bane see in her daughter? What had caused him to kidnap _her_, instead of the many other choices that had been before him? And if his words were true, why would he tear a city apart just to have her back with him? Even if they were in love with each other, why would someone go to such great lengths for this pathetic, dysfunctional girl?

Suddenly, Alcina had an urge to disturb Camille's special time with her water and her rag. And she knew just what to say to make things that much worse for her firstborn child.

"Did you ever wonder how I acquired you in the first place, Camille?"

Camille kept her head down, focusing only on her job of cleaning herself. She dipped the rag into the water again, held it against her mouth as the coolness soothed the sting there. "You ambushed us. There was a car crash."

"Yes, but how could I have known exactly where you would be at that exact given time, hmm?"

So much had gone on that Camille had never thought of that particular question. And thinking of it now, replaying the night of the crash in her mind, she realized that something had not gone right that night. How _could_ her mother have known where they would be? How could she know that?

She would know only if someone had told her.

Alcina smiled as the realization came to her daughter's cut and exhausted face. She'd planned on saving this reveal for another time. But there really was no time like the present. And Alcina had not been able to help herself. "Someone doesn't like you very much in that silly army, do they?"

Camille didn't think the frown on her face could deepen more. She liked to think of herself as a wise woman, even though she could be easily defeated by the other woman smiling at her now. And as she listened to her mother's words, there was only one face that could pop into her head. The one person who'd never liked her. The one person who had obviously not cared about her apology in the slightest. She looked over at her mother then, right into the eyes the same black as her own, and felt like a delicious piece of food that had been given on a silver platter to the one person who would devour her right up.

"Your Barsad seems like a very nice man. After all, he only cares about his leader. He only wants what is best for him. And what was best was to sell you to me. I accepted gratefully."

Her mother blew her a kiss, chirped her goodbyes, and left Camille all alone once more.

Camille held the rag on her lap, not caring that it was soaking through her scrub pants. It was hard to think then. It was hard to know that time was still going on, that the earth was still spinning as usual. Children went to school, adults went to work. People lived and died. People smiled and sobbed. And the lost were never meant to be found.

She was nothing but a sacrifice. Her chest started aching again, her hands felt like they'd gone numb, and her head began to roar from pain, and utter sadness.

She'd done nothing wrong. She had never hurt the masked man, had always wanted what was best for him. Had gone to great lengths of leaving the world behind so that she could be with him. She took care of him night and day, fed him, kept him medicated, kept him warm and safe when his past would come back to haunt him. She had done everything for him, she could remember that.

And still, she'd been punished for it. Apologies meant nothing. All that mattered was someone's resentment.

And even knowing all of that, even knowing that the masked man's closest friend had offered her to her worst enemy, Camille found that she couldn't be angry with him. She couldn't be angry because deep down, she was not surprised.

There were so many different types of love.

Camille somehow found the strength to wash the rest of her body, touching with her fingertips the cut on her mouth to make sure that it was healing properly, and not scarring in a deformed way. After she pushed the bowl away, she climbed onto the cot, closed her eyes against the heat and desperate need to breathe cool air.

This is what she needed, she told herself. This was her time to escape into sleep, and dream of a man from the past. She would never forget him but some things were slowly fading away. Fading away into the dark depths of memory reserved only for those special perks of life that could never be revisited again. Before, she had bled to avoid the pain. Now she would sleep.

And hoping, in a distant part of her mind where the masked man wasn't, that each day she would fade a little more.

* * *

Within a matter of hours, Gotham City was suddenly in a rampage. And as the days went on, Bane wreaked havoc on everything he could find, everywhere he would look. And just as he'd told Alcina, he was overturning every brick to find his woman who may or may not still be alive.

He ransacked buildings, overtook hotels and other establishments that were involved with the mob, taking down cops, clowns, and mobsters all at the same time. A few times he ran into the Nightwing, but his men successfully held him off, giving him plenty to do with saving the innocent or trying to subdue as many mercenaries as he could. But as hard as he tried to fight, he couldn't get to Bane. His rage transferred onto his men, making them even more fordable opponents than what they already had been. The police fought, and were sent on a grand chase. The mob tried to execute him, only to be killed themselves. And the Joker did nothing but laugh at this new, fun game with Harley Quinn by his side.

No part of the city was left unsearched and unscathed. Bane targeted the areas of poverty and decay just as much as the wealthy. Anywhere he could think to look, he looked. And any place he would get a lead on, he tore apart. He had come here to finish the job of the League of Shadows. It seemed that Camille being taken from him was accomplishing just that. Some areas he had to save for when his men were stronger after their battles with Gotham's Finest and the young hero, or areas that had just too much security at the time being, prepared now from the attacks. But he had a list. And that list was going to be completed no matter what the cost. No matter how much time passed. The police were winded from the sudden explosion of the mercenary assaults, finding it hard to keep up even with the Nightwing on their side. They tried to apprehend them for questioning and protect those who would be caught in the crossfire, but they were also looking into every elite business man and woman, every person of high status or interest, just in case another Miranda Tate incident was occurring under their noses. They were left completely exhausted from it, given no time at all before they were needed again as Bane unleashed his anger and determination.

And as he searched the city, Bane searched his own army for a rat, holding interrogations for those who seemed suspicious, or couldn't account for their time properly. The last rat had been a faceless member of the army that no one could remember. Bane did not leave those men out, or the ones he'd trusted a little more than others. Sometimes they were able to go free, to resume their duties with a fear in their hearts. And other times, when they could not give Bane a straight answer, they would either leave injured, or be killed in the process.

His patience was gone. It had now been a week since he'd found out about the body that was not Camille. He was simply finished.

And Barsad watched on, watched on as they tore apart the city looking for a woman, watched as good men were beaten or killed for suspicious behavior. Before, he had thought nothing of it, saw it only as humoring Bane until this whole thing blew over and they could get back to the real work.

Now, he was starting to have some doubts. And he didn't care very much for the feeling.

Even during this moment, as Barsad stood off to the side as one of the younger men shook and pleaded for his life to their leader, he couldn't stop an annoying itch beginning to crawl up his spine.

"How loyal are you to this army?" Bane asked the young man, his arms crossed over his chest, his height towering and his mask hissing.

"Very loyal, sir. I know I have made a mistake. I'm sorry."

"There are certain acts that I do not tolerate here. Rape is one of them. I have reports of you taking a young woman against her will. And you know the rules, don't you?"

The man nodded, his lower lip trembling. He hadn't meant to hurt the girl. But she had said some horrible things to him in return. And the punishment seemed to fit the crime, at the time. He never knew that his act would get back to his leader, knowing full well how he felt about certain things, even though the media said those same things about him. But everyone in the army knew it was a silly lie. Now, he was in big trouble because he'd done the real thing.

"You know the rules and yet you still disobeyed them. It makes me wonder what other rules you have disregarded. Your actions tell me that I cannot trust you. And if I cannot trust you, then you have no purpose here."

Barsad had had to shoot the young rapist himself.

Their men were dropping like flies, the ones who showed untrustworthy tendencies, and Barsad thought of them all as nothing but waste. It pained him when another one would be eliminated, a man with a strong back and capable hands who could continue to do the work regardless of what he'd done. But Bane knew that someone within his army was a traitor. Someone who had spoken with Alcina Angeli.

And Bane, feeling a certain way about his second, never even considered him.

What was that one thought doing to him? Barsad thought as Bane walked away from the body of another wasted soldier. Why was that one thought making him feel like he couldn't breathe? Like he couldn't function? Sending Camille away to her mother had been a good thing, he reminded himself. It had been done in Bane's best interest, just so that he would not harm himself or the army for another inane and easily replaceable woman. Bane could have any woman he wanted. He only needed to demand it and Barsad would find a willing one for him. Why was the doctor so important? Why was Bane on a massive search to find her when she could be just as dead as he'd thought she was?

All the work he'd done, all the lies he'd had to tell to his leader. And that woman was _still_ around, directing their every move. Barsad had wanted to protect the army. Now, things were worse than ever for them.

Bane should move on. Bane did _not_ need her.

Barsad didn't want to think he was feeling guilty. He would push back that truth, tell himself it had nothing to do with certain emotions Bane could be experiencing when it came to the doctor, and that it had nothing to do with the… very faint _fear_ he felt in his gut when he would witness Bane interrogate the others for something they hadn't done. He would refuse to think of how Bane had acted after he thought the doctor had been killed. He would never think about how Bane, even while Barsad had been trying to kill him so far back in the past when they'd first met, had tried his hardest to save the daughter that had never stood a chance. Barsad's child had been dead for a long time. And Bane had still tried to help him save her.

Barsad was _not _feeling guilty. He would _not _feel bad for his searching friend or his friend's suffering woman.

But that annoying itch under his skin was steadily turning into an ugly insect burrowing itself deeper inside his body.

He tried to ignore it.

He was failing.

* * *

They dreamed the same dream.

They were both in the pit. It wasn't unusual for Camille to dream of _Peña Dura_. She had been there before and knew what it was like from that experience, from the stories the masked man used to tell her when she had been happy, when she had been safe and sound.

And for Bane, the pit would forever be inside of him, the one place that was truly home because he'd never known another one before it. Days in the pit were his first memories, the sounds of prison something he could never stop hearing, and the deaths he'd seen something he could never forget. He'd dreamed of his prison before many times.

Now, as they slept all alone, it came to both of them.

They were climbing, climbing, climbing. Trying to climb all the way to the top with the safe rope wrapped around their middles, the cries and chants of imprisoned men beneath them roaring like thunder. Bane could see the sun, could feel it on his skin, the goal of finally climbing out of this place heating his body just as much as the rays lighting the way. Finally he would be able to escape by himself, without any help, leaving Hell because he chose to leave on his own. And Camille only wanted away from the others down below that would control her, that would take her away and lock her all by herself, taunting her through the bars of the dirty and hot cell she could never leave.

Sweat dripped from their skin, their breath ragged and exhausted, trying with all their might to leave because they had to get back to someone else, the other person trying to make the climb as well. That was all that mattered. The feeling of being pulled into the familiar embrace, the scent of the familiar body more calming than anything they'd ever known before. Camille gasped as she slipped a little, clutching at the rock wall with all her strength so that she would not fall back into the grip of her enemies. And Bane found that his weight was becoming his downfall, the hard muscle of him too much for the stones to hold him without any support of a rope, the _right_ rope. If he fell he would go back to the darkness, the pain and suffering that was the everyday in Hell.

They had been each other's rope before they could fall. But without each other, without the rope that was not the one wrapped around them in sleep, there was nothing to hang on to.

They dreamed the same dream.

On the wall, in the pit of their loneliness, their strength gave out. And Bane and Camille returned to prison all alone before wakefulness would bring them back to the cold reality.

**TBC**

**A/N: I know I must have misled you all with the title of this chapter. But I know that all my loves are continuing to trust me, and know for certain that I'd never steer you wrong. Also, pertaining to a question I was asked, it was Alcina's goon the Joker and Harley were negotiating with back from chapter one. And because I adore all of you so much for your wonderful reviews that I know you'll keep sending me, someone you've been demanding will appear in the next chapter for one last time. Be excited, darlings. And know how grateful I am to all of you for all the lovely things you have to say. **


	20. Nothing Left

_**Amaranthine**_

**Chapter 20**

**Nothing Left**

"_Follow me back home, 'cause the night is young, and I'm tired of being alone. Follow me back home. Give me just one more to send shivers to the bone." – Delain_

"How does that feel? Does that feel good? Tell me and I'll do it again."

The man groaned, his head falling back against the wall, the weight of the luscious body on his lap driving him insane with lust. He didn't know what to do, what to focus on. He wanted to run his hands all along the sweet curves of the woman pleasuring him, wanted to sit back and stare at her lovely body dressed in lacy lingerie. Usually he would just sit back and let his prize for the night do her job, preferably on her knees. But this woman was different. This woman was making his head so dizzy with desire that he couldn't think, could barely answer her because _God_, he just wanted to do whatever she told him to do. He would crawl on his hands and knees to her if she wanted him to, would do the craziest things for her and she only had to ask. "Yes," he panted, groaning again from the feel of her hands along his body. "Yes, it feels so good."

"You're being such a good boy. Good boys get treats, don't they? Would you like a treat, my good boy?"

"_Yes_, please, God. You're so fucking beautiful…"

She giggled huskily, letting her head fall back so that her soft hair would whisper along his bare thighs. Most of his clothes were gone, but her fancy underwear was still perfectly intact. Just as she planned for it to be. She'd made him sit on his hands so that he couldn't touch her, not just yet. Not until the very right moment would he be able to lay a single finger on her. She snuck her fingers into his blonde, bouncy hair, pulled so that his head would stay back as she smiled at him. She opened her mouth some as she brought her lips closer to his, her lips painted black and alluringly shiny. In the dressing room, no one was around. And she could do whatever she wanted with him.

"Do you want to kiss me?"

He nodded vigorously, his mind turned to mush. "You smell _so_ good…"

"Do I? How do you imagine I would taste?"

The man could barely even process that. The way she smelled was so intoxicating he was lucky if he could tell her his own name. The taste of her was something he thought he wasn't yet ready for, and something he was absolutely craving. "So sweet. So yummy."

"Do you think so?" she asked playfully, cupping her hand underneath his chin as she puckered her lips and kissed the air just a whisper away from his mouth. "I'll let you kiss me. And then I'll let you touch me. How does that sound?"

"You smell so good… You're so beautiful…"

She smiled, her emerald eyes glittering at the blubbering mess her little plaything had become for her. Her creamy white skin would be too much for him, and the taste of her black painted lips would certainly be his end.

What more could a girl ask for?

"Let me kiss you, good boy," she cooed, and softly tasted his mouth.

The man's hands instantly began touching her body, running all along her curves as her mouth took his. She was an expert kisser, and could have brought him to his worshipping state with that alone before everything that had led up to it in the dressing room of her club. She opened her mouth when the time was appropriate, made him moan and rut against her from the flowing, wet movements of her experienced lips. And when it was time to back away, when he had sucked at every inch of her lips, she tore her mouth away with a loud _smack_ of wetness.

And then fluidly removed herself from his lap, standing in front of him in her lingerie as he began to choke.

Practically naked on a simple chair, he coughed, that shocked, desperate attempt to draw air. Her face held a terrible beauty when she set her hands on her hips to watch him die.

Pamela Isley liked to watch her prey succumb to her traps.

His face was beet red, his eyes bulging. He kept hacking, making a stupid movement of grabbing his throat like the act would help him in some pathetic way. He stared at her, the pain and fear in place of lust and insanity wonderfully alive in the dressing room as he died.

"Was I sweet and yummy enough for you?" she asked cheerfully, and raised her brows as she glanced down at his crotch. He'd spent himself in the middle of her kiss. "At least you got to finish before you died." She angled her head, her expression fascinated as his body convulsed. "Usually I'm not so generous. You're welcome."

How lovely it was to watch death come to those who deserved it. And how even lovelier it was still for it to march in at the direction of her own kiss. As the body stilled from fatal poisoning, Pamela casually wiped her lips from any remaining black lipstick that was her precious poison, and considered this a job well done. The body still sat dead and gone as she cleaned up, brushing her long red hair and applying a gloss to her lips, thinking nothing of a dead man in the corner of the room as she wandered about while her club boomed from outside the dressing room. Her Flowers had kept the rest of the guests entertained as she'd brought her special client to the back for a private show, and a deadly kiss. Taking an emerald green silk robe that matched her eyes, she pulled it on over her lingerie and tied the sash.

Then jumped as she spotted Bane standing right in the middle of the dressing room.

With his long brown coat on his body, he seemed even larger within the cramped space than what he already was. His mask hissed softly with his breathing as he stared at her, thinking nothing of the fact that he was here, that he'd witnessed the way she handled certain men who had the misfortune of irritating her. He knew how to be as quiet as a shadow, knew how to become one so that he wouldn't be seen. And he'd seen it all.

Pamela felt no fear that he was here, but she placed a hand on her heart in a mocking gesture anyway. "Don't you know you're supposed to knock before entering a ladies' boudoir? And here I am, very much indecent for company."

"You are decent enough," Bane answered, then glanced over at the body sprawled out in the chair, very poisoned and very dead. "Most impressive. They die so horribly from something so sweet."

Pamela gave an admiring laugh. "He was a fashion model. He was quoted in a magazine that he very much disapproved of the lifestyle women who worked in places such as this led. But little did they know that he's been a frequent visitor here for many months. He went out to the media degrading us." She glanced over at him, at his black smeared mouth, and scoffed. "So I gave him a taste at real degradation. He couldn't seem to resist me." She looked back at Bane, tilted her head some as she took him in. "No pretty doctor on your arm tonight, I see. I wouldn't think you would come here without her."

Bane was quiet for a few moments. He was running out of places, he knew. And he was most certainly running out of time. Camille had been gone for well over a week now, and chances of her still being alive were becoming slimmer as the days went on. Regrettably, he knew he needed to start broadening the search. "The Italians took her from me."

"Ah," she murmured, and finally understood the reasoning behind Bane's terror on the city. Places had been destroyed by his army, and many people from the mob and the police killed during the raids. At first she thought he was just starting another revolution, gathering those of low status to take over the elite. But hearing this now, everything fell into place. "Well I must say that it is very sweet of you to search for her so menacingly. Although I can't imagine why you would think she'd be here. I'm afraid Dr. Lane is always running off from me get back to you."

"Your club has already been searched. But the destruction of it is still being decided."

Pamela narrowed her eyes. Usually she didn't deal too well with threats. Usually, men who threatened her or what belonged to her ended up dead. "Is that so? You give me pain, love. I had nothing to do with stealing your woman away. Take that up with Alcina Angeli." She smirked at his expression, brushed it off like it were nothing. "I'm not stupid, honey. I knew Tony Zucco was a fraud. Enough of my clients have big mouths that don't seem to stop yapping once a beautiful woman shows up. Mrs. Angeli is quite lovely, isn't she?" She rolled her eyes, remembering talk from others of the beauty of the mob boss. "And I hear she can be quite nasty."

"Evil comes in all forms, and often alluring ones."

Pamela only continued to smile.

Bane could see the amusement simmering underneath her gorgeous face. He would rather not have to deal with this woman at all, considering the strange effect being around her had had on him the last time. But he knew he needed help. And he knew that she could be the one to give it to him. "Many men and women from the mob visit here quite frequently. I need you to keep a sharp ear out for anything involving Camille. In return, you may keep your most colorful establishment."

"You want me to be your little weasel? Oh, darling Bane, I am above working for others." Pamela stared at him, at the giant mass of his body that could take up so much space. She hadn't gotten to spend much time with him the last time he'd showed up with Camille. But now they were alone. And suddenly she was having ideas. She also knew that there was no way she would allow him to carry out his threats against her. "Do you think I'll simply sit back and let you tear my place to the ground?"

"If you refuse to assist me then not only will I do so, but I will kill you, as well."

Pamela brightened. She liked this kind of talk. In fact, she liked it so much since she rarely ever got to talk like this with another man that she wanted for it to continue. Bane was different from any other man. Bane was _great_. And she was definitely becoming aroused by it. "Why don't we save the business chat for later? Why don't you touch me right now instead? I'll let you, for free."

Bane's gaze never wavered. He wouldn't be like all the others and succumb to her. She may be very physically appealing, but she was not his woman. And she would not defeat him with her pretty face. "I will have to decline."

Her brows rose in challenge at that, and made her want him more. She had many weapons. And they all weren't just her poison. With her wide mouth curved, she reached for the sash of her robe and untied it, letting it fall to the floor so that he could see what she had to offer him. Her perfect body was still dressed in lingerie, pretty lace and ties that could easily be undone so the skin underneath could be touched. She wanted him to touch her. She wanted him to touch her as she forgot why he was here. Her wants always took priority. And as she watched him act big and strong, his eyes never dropping not even a centimeter to look at her, she only became more determined.

Pamela liked Camille. In the very few times she'd spoken with her face to face, she had considered Camille an odd sort of friend. But even through all of that, she was a woman who was used to getting what she wanted. She hadn't worked so hard, hadn't fought her way to the top to let the things she craved pass her by. Pamela may have liked Camille, still liked her even though she could very well be dead.

But those feelings had never stopped her along the path to a man. Especially one she wanted for something other than a kill. Or… at least before one.

Bane was a conqueror. Bane had taken the entire city, had defeated the Batman for a long period of time. Bane led an _army. _

Pamela knew what she wanted. And always got it, no matter what the cost.

Bane shook his head at her. "I'm afraid your efforts are wasted ones. I will still kill you."

"Not if I kill you first," she said softly and sweetly, and did what very few others had done in the past when facing Bane. She began taking a few steps forward. "I'm afraid you've caught my attention."

She placed her hands on his chest covered in armor. And before he could brush her off and shove her away, the scent of her flooded him like a disease.

Bane stood a step back, trying to blow the smell out of his system even as it travelled like blood. His lower back hit a dresser, the pound of it banging into the wall as he tried to fight it off. But just like last time, it was very hard to do. Just like last time, the very sweet, very intoxicating smell of this woman was making his head dizzy, and the rest of him react.

He would never be able to describe the scent of her. He would never know why she smelled that way, how she smelled that way, and how she could use it against him. But he did know that it was a weapon. A weapon she used against her prey, just like the poor man in the corner of the room. Dead and poisoned.

Pamela Isley was a poison.

Bane had never been prey before. And he tried to fight it off even as everything started to feel weak.

"You won't kill me," she murmured, pressing him harder against the dresser, feeling the power underneath her hands. She could do so much wonderful damage if she could just have him. "Why would you want to kill me?" she whispered to him as he shook his head to clear it, as the mask continually hissed in his attempts to breathe something other than her. "I could give you everything. I could make you so very, very happy, love. Look at how _strong_ you are."

Bane didn't think he could see. But he could see. He could see her pretty face, her lovely red hair, even through the cloud of her scent. He didn't want to, didn't want to look at her. But how could he not look at her? How could he not stare at something so beautiful? Her scent slithered in his mind like a snake, coiling around him and coaxing him to look at her offered and adorned body, telling him, go ahead and touch. I know you want to. He lifted his hands to push her, felt hers grasp them. He kept closing his eyes to block her image, opening them again to make it return.

How could her smell feel more like a drug than his own medicine?

Pamela pouted, placing his hands on the edge of the dresser behind him so that she could touch him some more. "How would I be able to kiss you?" she asked, running her nimble fingers along his mask. "That saddens me. I'll have to make it up to you." She ran her hands down his chest, smiled terribly as she felt him weakening to her. Just like they all did. Rats within traps. She danced her fingers along his belt, hooked one arm around his neck to pull him closer to her so that she could whisper to him. So that he could breathe nothing but her. "You can give me the world. We can work together. Nothing could stop us. Just you and me, darling."

Where was his head? Where was his rationale? How could he feel like this was wrong and only be able to smell the intoxication of her at the same time? He needed an anchor to get him out of this. He needed a rope.

But… his rope was gone. There was no sky anymore. Even through Pamela's smell and her touch, he could vaguely remember someone else. He closed his eyes, wished for her to continue touching him, wished for her to get away from him. The smell of her was just as much a poison as her kiss, and Bane needed to be pulled away. He needed to find his mind before he reached up to touch her, before he would feel her lovely red hair and possibly rip off the mask just so that he could taste those divine lips. He fought hard through his blurred mind for the image again, the image of someone before the woman slowly killing him with need now, and found it through unwelcome and forced desire.

He once had a rope. He was here to get it back.

Bane needed a woman. And Pamela Isley was _not_ the one he wanted.

Pamela felt her own skin sizzle from desire, desire at having a man who tried uselessly to fight her off. She moved her hand past his belt, lower and lower until she was where she wanted to be. Until her trap succeeded.

And then, in the blink of an eye… it failed.

Bane suddenly snarled and snapped his hand up to wrap it around Pamela's throat. He glared at her, protected his senses and tried to fight the army that was her effect. He squeezed until she couldn't breathe, until he felt that lovely surprised squeal underneath his gripping fingers. Her hands went to his forearms, grabbing at them, trying to stop him from hurting her. And then he was lifting her from the floor, lifting her to eye level until she was nothing else besides a frightened woman who had upset the wrong man.

The wrong man on a massive search.

Bane applied more pressure until he felt her throat bob under his hand, his vision back, his mind at ease. And when he spoke, he spoke low, his voice as haunting as a ghost. "Enough of your tricks, _woman_," he growled, holding her up like a captured prize. "If you ever touch me again I will snap your neck. And if you refuse to assist me in my search for Camille then we shall be in here for a while. Only this time, _you _will be the one screaming. Do you understand?"

Never had any man broken free from her clutch. Never had she even had to consider a different outcome. No man could resist her. Except for this one. And she didn't know how to react.

So Pamela could only nod, her throat screaming for air.

"Good," Bane said cheerfully with a big smile, releasing his grip and watching a gorgeous woman in lingerie fall to the floor, coughing. He waited a few moments for her to compose herself at his feet. "Listen for discussion of Camille and you will never have to deal with me again. If you hear something, get in touch." Bane looked to the dead man again, watched as Pamela tried to fix her red hair and right her posture. "I still consider your work impressive. Please, don't stop on my account."

Pamela watched him leave, as quiet as when he'd arrived. Maybe she should have felt anger, violation. Defeat. She watched him go, replayed his words in her mind. But what she felt now had nothing to do with the negative. Never in her life had she ever felt respect for a man.

She leaned back on her hands, laughing huskily.

"Men," she breathed.

* * *

How could she have not known this place was so horrible? How could she have worked here for so long and not realize what was being done to people? What she was allowing because she had never stopped it? Some people had wanted to leave so badly, and their words were just disregarded and filed away as part of their condition. But she hadn't known that it had been the truth.

Nothing but the truth, the way this place really was.

Camille let out a slow breath in her cell, trying to keep as much oxygen in her system as possible, since she had a fear that it was slowly leaving this part of Arkham Asylum. She couldn't remember how long she'd been here, and knew that for most of her time here the air conditioning had not been on, and she was given very little water. She was so hot, so tired from the heat and lack of nourishment, and all she ever wanted to do was sleep.

She didn't know how the injury to her mouth looked, but she did know that it didn't hurt so much anymore. The cut from the middle of her bottom lip going diagonally down her chin was beginning to scar and mark her for the rest of her life, but she'd done a good job at protecting and caring for her wound with the little supplies she had. The bruises on her body were faint yellow now, making her feel even more damaged than what she already did, and reminding her of how the course of her life had gone. She used to be happy. She used to be strong and capable and away from all those who could hurt her. She used to have a man, a masked man who would sometimes appear to her in her sleep.

Reminding her of better times. Of happiness. How would it feel to be happy again?

How would it feel to feel anything at all?

She was so hot, and her upper arms were achy from the shock therapy she was given almost every other day, the therapy that came with questions of her past man that she would never answer because she would still protect him in this prison. She had been the only one to do so for him, and even in hell she would continue. Her body always felt so bad without her man. And she knew she looked just as bad. Camille's already coarse curls were matting together into even coarser dreadlocks from the lack of proper washing and brushing. She wondered if her skin looked like ash, a sickly gray look, just as gray as the scrubs they dressed her in. She often thought that if she were to ever look in a mirror, would she recognize herself? Or would she see the reflection of a young girl from long ago, torn and beat down by her mother?

Camille was too scared to take the chance.

Swallowing softly to preserve moisture from the muggy heat of the cell, she heard the distant sounds of heavy doors opening, of two sets of feet walking down the dark hallway towards her cell. The stomping boots were those of the guard, and the click of heels could only be her mother paying her another one of her visits, just to make sure she was being trained properly by Jeremiah Arkham.

_This is how you train something, baby girl._

Camille didn't care. They were only using her to get to the masked man. And as long as he was kept safe, she was doing her job.

_Bind it to you with fear, and it's yours._

"There she is!" Alcina smiled brightly as she spotted her daughter, styled impeccably as always in a long fuchsia dress and a white blazer for warmth from the outside. Her short black curls were extra bouncy from an afternoon at the salon, and her cheeks just slightly pink from drinks with a few of her contacts as they discussed other ways to put Bane on a misleading trail. Luis had proved successful so far, and was kept satisfied for his work in sending the monster on a wild goose chase. Alcina stepped back so that the guard could raise the bars. He then wandered off to the side with a watchful gaze, making sure that the inmate wouldn't try anything to harm her visitor, or escape. "You know, baby girl, I must say I missed having you around. I hardly ever get to see any of my children now that you're all so grown up. And I come with good news." She pulled up the chair that had been placed in Camille's cell for her, took a careful seat so that her designer dress wouldn't be ruined from the filth of captivity. "I know you had your special therapy yesterday. Jeremiah has been so concerned for you that he wanted to do it again today. Isn't that nice of him?"

Sitting on the floor because it was a tad cooler than her sweltering cot, Camille gripped the lone blanket she had on top of it and slowly shook her head. "No," she let out hoarsely because her throat was so dry. "No, that's not nice of him."

"Now, Camille, before you say something you shouldn't about your doctor, let me tell you that we _will_ be giving you some therapy today. But not the shock therapy. And let me just remind you that if you only tell us what we want to know, there doesn't need to be any therapy at all."

Camille hated her therapy sessions. Because in reality it was more like interrogating torture than anything helpful. The floral scent of her mother drifted to her, filled her cell, reminding her of what she had become again. She could give them everything about herself. But what they wanted to know, _who_ they wanted to know about, would never be spoken of. Silence meant more therapy.

Silence meant more torture. But for him, for the masked man, it was worth it.

"How about it, Camille? The decision is all mine. If I leave here happy, you can be left alone for the rest of the day." Alcina looked at her daughter, forgot for an instant that there had been time spent apart from her. But Camille would always come back to her. Camille was _hers, _and forever would be. "I never knew that you couldn't get pregnant."

She wanted to go to sleep. All she wanted to do was go to sleep, and hear familiar hissing in her dreams. "I can. I just can't keep it inside me."

Alcina laughed, that condescending laugh. "You certainly didn't get that from me. I hope you didn't want to have any little monster babies." The image came to her then, the image of Camille wanting to give Bane children and not being able to because her body couldn't handle it. With five babies under her belt, it was only another reason why she would forever be superior to her daughter. "Did you want to, Camille? Did you want to be a mommy like me? Did you expect that monster to marry you?" Alcina knew her questions about Bane now had nothing to do with his capture and eventual murder. But they were questions whose answers could be further ammunition to his suffering. She pictured his face now as she told him of Camille's last words, that she had wanted to marry him and give him babies. Suddenly, she needed the answers to do just that.

But as always, Camille was quiet. She couldn't answer questions about someone she was forcing herself to stop remembering. And she would refuse to answer questions about someone she would never forget.

It was an odd way of living. But it was getting her through the days. Barely.

As silent as the dead. The way her masked man thought of her was how she felt.

Alcina sighed, knowing that Camille wouldn't speak again, knowing that she was only going to hurt herself even more in her pathetic attempt to stay quiet for the monster. Maybe they needed to up the shock therapy. Maybe she would have a discussion with Jeremiah before she left the asylum for the day. She was starting to sweat down here anyway.

"Alright, Camille. If that's the way you want to act, then so be it. Bad behavior gets no rewards, only punishment. I'm leaving now." She stood from the chair, walked up to Camille to pet her matted curls before she bent carefully in her dress. "Give mommy a kiss goodbye, baby girl."

Camille looked over at her mother, her beautiful, beautiful mother. She had used to do everything for this woman, had worked so very hard to ensure her happiness, just so that the rest of the family could remain in good spirits. She would have given her mother the world if she only asked it of her.

But this woman had taken her away from the only happiness she'd ever known, the only safety she'd ever felt. Her masked man was gone. Her masked man thought she was dead. And because of this woman, she would never see him again. She could barely remember him anymore.

And like a miracle, on those thoughts alone, Camille wanted nothing more than to disrupt Alcina's happiness so that she couldn't feel it either.

"You want to know why I never had any children, mother?" Her voice was flat, barely any emotion because she didn't think she could feel anymore. But she would say what she needed to say, because then maybe it would save her. "Because then they would be related to you."

Alcina's brightened glow wasted away as her anger boiled up. Camille had never spoken to her that way in her entire life. Camille was always obedient, always doing and doing and doing so that she wouldn't get into trouble. And to hear these words from her daughter now, to hear _these words_, made her so angry she could barely see straight.

And then the anger overflowed when Camille turned away from her kiss.

Alcina snapped up, her hands fisted so hard she could feel her fresh manicure digging into her skin. She looked down at Camille, saw nothing but that worthless piece of unwanted trash she'd always been ever since she brought her into the world.

And then she slapped Camille across the face hard, the sound snapping down the hallway like thunder.

"Enjoy your therapy, _monster whore_."

Alcina fumed all the way out of the cell and down the hall, snipping at the guards and Jeremiah. Camille would receive her punishment. Camille would be so uncomfortable that she would wish all those times she'd cut herself in her room growing up that it had done the job, and killed her.

Camille sat on the floor as her cheek stung, and watched the guards bring a big light into her cell. It took up most of the room, nowhere to push it away and nowhere to escape it. Once the bars were lowered to the ground and she was locked in tight, they turned it on, the piercing light of the giant florescent lamp beaming right at her like fire from hell. She flinched at the light, squinted her eyes shut against it. There was nowhere to hide, nowhere to duck.

All she could do was take her flimsy little blanket and crawl under the cot. She pulled the cover over her head, trying to block the bright light, trying to escape into sleep. But she couldn't. She couldn't even sleep so that she could feel something of the masked man. She could remember feeling like the darkness was warm and safe because he would be there.

The light did nothing but hurt her eyes.

* * *

He was thirty-eight years old. He could remember that much about his old life. Those thirty-eight years had been so hard for him, growing up so very poor in South Africa, that poverty doing nothing but pulling him further in on the wrong side of the law. So far in that he'd been arrested and tried for his crimes, his crimes of using his guns. And never, ever missing. Thirty-eight years of struggle, of battle, of sleeping with unfit women, one of them who would eventually get pregnant with his child and not be able to care for it in the least. Thirty-eight years, five of them spent doing whatever he could for the daughter who was killed for his carelessness in the end. That time of grieving for her was absolutely the worst part of his entire life.

But suffering here now, knowing what he had done to the one man who tried to help him save his child, Barsad concluded that what he was feeling now was a close second to the death of his only daughter.

He tried to remind himself every day that giving Camille over to her mother was a good thing, that Bane would only benefit from it in the end. He would not lose himself to another woman, he would not be so upset when that woman betrayed him or hurt him in years to come. Every single day Barsad would tell himself that Bane was his closest friend, that he was only saving him. Protecting him. Keeping him away from another toxic woman who could never feel for him the way he would feel for her.

And every single day that Dr. Lane was gone, he would watch Bane, and think himself a fool.

Barsad didn't know exactly how Bane felt about the doctor. He'd assumed that his time with the woman was just until he got bored with her, until her usefulness inside and outside of his bed would wither. He knew Bane was taken with her, but he never thought that his feelings would be so powerful like they were with Talia al Ghul. And Barsad still didn't know what Bane felt.

But as he watched his leader search every day for her, as he watched him tear down places where she could be, kill anyone in the army that could have had anything to do with her disappearance, Barsad had a pretty good idea what was in Bane's heart.

And it was killing him. Because everything that was happening now was all his fault.

Bane knew there was a traitor in the army, knew that that very traitor had contacted the mob so that they could take Camille away. He didn't know the reason behind it. Bane just assumed that whoever had made the call was only trying to control him, to let him know that they could take from him whatever they wanted. Bane didn't know that that wasn't the case at all. It had only been done so that he could be protected, saved from more heartache.

Bane didn't know that the very man he didn't suspect at all was the traitor he was searching so diligently for.

Why was she worth any of this? Barsad asked himself, sitting at the table in Bane's apartment, knowing he was supposed to be studying the maps in front of him for the next target to search. Why couldn't Bane move on? Why couldn't Bane just continue to think she was dead and stop all this nonsense?

Why couldn't he breathe? Why did he feel like he was dying in guilt and shame?

Because you are guilty, Barsad answered in his head. Because what you've done deserves all shame.

He betrayed his friend, his brother. It was bad enough that he tried to convince himself that Bane was only infatuated with the doctor. It was worse when he let himself consider that maybe Bane felt even more for her, and that possibly… she had felt the same way for him.

Barsad didn't want to believe it. But he also knew that everyone, no matter what they tried to convince themselves of, knew the truth. He knew the truth.

And he had made a very big mistake.

_It was killing him. _

Barsad looked over as Bane walked into the apartment, as his leader gave him an odd look. Barsad knew he was supposed to be working, but sitting here, he could only stare at the maps, and continue to feel the guilt he'd tried denying. It was harder to be around Bane lately. It was harder to be forced into helping him search for someone who he'd had a hand in making disappear. And it was harder still, to _know_ that Bane never suspected him. To _know_ that Bane would never believe that he could do something like take his lover away right from under his nose.

Men were dying because of him. Time was being wasted in a search, and his friend was suffering without his woman.

Barsad just kept his head down, and remained silent.

"Rose Red is not to be destroyed," Bane told him idly, sliding the maps closer so he could see all the work that Barsad had not gotten done. "Ms. Isley is doing her part. There has been no word on Camille as of yet."

Barsad nodded absentmindedly, his chest feeling like it were caving in with every word Bane spoke.

Bane glanced at his second. Something had been bothering him for a while now, he knew. Camille had been missing for over two weeks now, and with each and every day he seemed to grow more distant. Bane would watch his face every time he would have to execute someone within the army who would prove to be untrustworthy, and Bane knew his friend hated doing away with able men. But he would not tolerate betrayal a second time. He would not stand back and let a traitor sneak his way in his circle. And seeing Barsad this way was really starting to affect him. Bane knew he needed to get to the bottom of it.

"I know this face," Bane muttered, waiting until Barsad shifted his head some before continuing. "Something is bothering you. You haven't looked this way in a long time."

Not since his daughter died. Not since the world felt like it were ending. "I'm just tired."

"I know how uncomfortable you feel when we must do away with certain individuals. Is this business with the traitor upsetting you?"

He didn't know how to answer. He was too tired to answer, too worn out from feeling so terrible. What was really upsetting him was watching others die, knowing that they were dying because of him. Knowing that these conditions were continuing because of him. Barsad gripped his hands together underneath the table so that Bane couldn't see, and forced himself to believe they weren't faintly shaking.

"If it is," Bane continued, placing a hand on Barsad's shoulder, "do not fret. I will find him." He patted his shoulder reassuringly, walked away as he began removing his body braces.

"Do you have a lead?" Barsad asked, and then instantly regretted the words. He didn't want to talk about this. He wanted the whole situation to go away.

"I do not. Everyone will be questioned. The last person Alcina Angeli sent here was unimportant. It could be anyone, and therefore everyone will be looked into."

Barsad stared at Bane's boots, knowing he couldn't look him in the eye. If it were anyone else, it wouldn't be a problem to lie to them. If it were anyone else. "She told you herself she has a second person here?"

"Yes. Someone called her and made a deal. Someone thought they could weaken me by taking Dr. Lane. It is only a matter of time before I find out who that was. Or until I find Camille, and then she can tell me."

Barsad swallowed and felt sick. Not because of the threat of Camille telling Bane of the true traitor if they ever found her. But because, if they ever _did_ find her, Barsad knew that she would not tell Bane of the traitor's identity. The things they'd said to each other had been kept from him. The animosity a big, ugly secret. And the doctor had apologized to him. She hadn't wanted Bane to find out how Barsad had felt about her. She had tried to make things right.

It was easy to get over that because he didn't think the doctor felt something strong for Bane. Now, he was very confused.

"You are worrying again," Bane told him while removing his wrist brace. He knew he needed to rest for a little while before the search would continue. "It is pointless. I will handle it and get the rest of the men back on track."

More shuffling around, and Barsad looked over to Bane. He could tell his leader wasn't sleeping well. He could tell that he was working himself to the bone to find his lady. If Bane didn't feel so strongly for her then why was he putting himself through this? If Bane did not want her for the rest of his days then why wasn't he able to function like he would normally? He was a fool. They were both fools; Bane for allowing another woman to hold him this way, and Barsad for trying to convince himself of lies, for drowning in guilt. Barsad was the traitor Bane was trying to find so that he could locate his woman. Barsad was the cause for his suffering and sleepless nights.

And here Bane was, trying to comfort him.

He was dead either way, because he knew he couldn't keep living like this. He would die of shame, or he would die for betrayal.

He decided then that the cowards way out was not for him. Not anymore.

Barsad swallowed again, stood. And prepared to meet his fate.

"Are you in love with this woman?"

Bane stopped what he was doing. He took one long, deep breath into his mask, turning to look at his second slowly. For a long moment he could only stare, stare into Barsad's eyes that suddenly showed so much. Barsad would never ask him such a question if it didn't mean anything. He would never ask him something so personal. He could see it now, the troublesome silence, the debilitating worry. The questions, the hesitancy. It was all there. All in his second's very sad, and very bothered eyes.

"I have to know. I have to know the answer."

He could see it. There was only one reason for his question now. And Bane had been searching in all the wrong places.

"What have you done?" Bane asked in a whisper.

Maybe there was hope. Maybe there was a miscommunication, and Bane wouldn't have to believe something unbelievable. Maybe Barsad really was just tired, and not holding a deadly secret. It was someone else. It had to be someone else, because surely his brother would not have betrayed him this way. Bane stared at him, hoping he was wrong.

But hope was despairing.

Barsad shook his head slowly, his chest sinking. "I'm sorry."

What was happening? Bane thought as he turned to face Barsad completely. First Camille was dead, then she was alive. First Barsad had been his second in command, then he was a traitor. At first, before the kidnapping, Bane had felt whole. And now…

Now, because of his friend, he was missing his half.

_His friend_.

Barsad had killed so many people in his life. And nothing had felt as hard as this one quiet moment between them. "I'm sorry," he repeated, trying to take a breath for calmness and finding the act impossible. "I… I've made a mistake. I was only trying to help us. To help you. I didn't want you to make another bad decision." Bane wasn't even blinking. His cold, piercing stare was stabbing him like a dagger. "Dr. Lane and I… we weren't getting along, because of what I thought. I expected her to become just like Talia, to bring you down, all of us down. I thought it was only a matter of time before she was controlling us. I saw the way you were treating her, the way you would look at her. And to me, it was just a repeat of the Demon Head. I couldn't allow our fate to end up in another woman's hands. So… I called her mother. I had her taken away."

It was half relieving, half sickening, the way he was feeling right now. Bane had never looked at him before in the way he was right then, like how Barsad had looked when Bane had to tell him of his child's death. Like the whole world had crumbled and had also fallen into place. He promised himself that he would never feel that way again. But staring back at Bane now, he couldn't help but feel everything his leader was feeling.

And it was horrible.

Bane didn't know what to think, what to feel. It would have been so much easier if it were anyone else. Anyone else, and he would have killed them right on the spot. But this was Barsad, and Bane had once told him that he was very valuable to him. He had been valuable.

And this is what that worth had given in return.

"You would do this to me," Bane muttered lowly. "You would take her away."

"I did it for you and for the army. I could not think past the situation with Talia al Ghul. You weren't supposed to have another woman. You weren't supposed… to feel the way you do…"

"You had me believe she was dead. You came in here and allowed me to think it."

Barsad was so focused on Bane's words that he couldn't even be frightened when his leader started to approach him. He understood his betrayal. And he understood what it would cost him. "Please, understand me. Everything I did was in your best interest. I ignored the way she would look at you, the way she would take care of you. I disregarded her apology to me because I thought it was all a game. I wanted only to protect you."

"Protect me." Bane spat out the words, unable to describe how he was feeling, especially now that he knew Camille had tried to make things right between her and Barsad. "You wanted to protect me so you took her away. You wanted to protect me, so you _betrayed_ me. After all I have done for you. After I risked my life to give both you and your daughter one. I gave you a new purpose, Barsad. And in return, you give my woman over to her mother. You will never understand what that has meant for both of us." When he was close enough, he simply stared, stared into the eyes of his friend, his betrayer.

Barsad remained motionless when Bane wrapped his hand around his throat, and slammed him against the wall behind his back.

"Are you _mad_, Barsad?" Bane growled.

"She's alive," Barsad choked, knowing a fight was pointless. Knowing he deserved everything that would come to him. "She's alive, Bane. I know where she is."

Bane stopped his grip before he could snap his neck. He leaned in close, tried to search for more betrayal. But his words were overpowering. His words were the ones he'd been hoping to hear.

It only took this to get them.

"They put her in Arkham Asylum. She's been there the whole time. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

_Finally._

Everything came full circle. Wasn't that how life worked? Camille was trapped in the first place he'd seen her. The first place they had spoken to each other. Trapped with that arrogant Jeremiah Arkham and her conniving whore of a mother. And Bane would go get her. He would take her away from the asylum, back to him and his world just like on the night he'd kidnapped her. Back to the place she belonged. Back with him. He'd told her he was coming for her. And tonight he would finally get there.

But Barsad… His friend, his brother. His second in command. How could he fix this? There was no fixing it because he could never trust him again. Barsad had taken away his rope. Barsad had taken away the sky. Instant death was what he deserved. His friend.

_His brother. _

"You will help me retrieve her," Bane said deeply, his voice thick with anger, relief, and betrayal all at the same time. He gripped Barsad's neck, felt like snapping it. Felt like pushing him away. "You will help me get Camille, and then you will go away. I will never see you again. If I do, I will kill you." The two men looked at each other, each seeing years and years of working together blowing away in the air like dust. Two old friends, and only this to show for it. Bane had given Barsad a new life. Barsad had given Bane precious trust. And for that, Bane knew he couldn't kill him this night. His last gift to his friend, his very last act of brotherhood, was to allow him to live after tonight. "If I ever see your face again, Barsad, I will kill you myself. God help you if she is not alive."

He didn't deserve to live. He didn't deserve this pass. Barsad still didn't know if the doctor's feeling towards Bane were genuine, but Bane would have to find that out for himself now. His one act of kindness was allowing him to go free. And for that, Barsad would help him. This one, last time.

But at least now, they could all be free. The three of them.

Moments later, with his braces back on and his armored vest across his chest, Bane looked out at the vast number of his army, their weapons in their hands and coats on their backs, ready for the last, and final raid. The cold wind tried to stab him like a knife without any other warmth, but he didn't care. All he cared about were his men feeling strong and capable tonight. Strong and capable for a rescue. He spotted Barsad in the midst of them, his trusty sniper ready to go in his grip, carrying out his last order. The men were ready, ready to cause some damage. Ready to have their efforts from their searching come to completion. Bane gathered their attention, spoke loud with authority and purpose. No more suffering.

"Tonight, we storm Arkham Asylum. The lives there do not matter. Kill whoever you want, take whatever you want. Everything is yours. They have stolen from us. They have taken our soldier away. Let us go get her back." The crowd lifted their weapons into the air, shouted at the prospect of a proper assault, and looked up to their leader as he gave the final order.

"Return to me what is _mine._"

With one last shout, Bane watched as his army hurled themselves into the vehicles. And prepared for battle.

_Enough suffering. One day we won't feel it anymore. _

* * *

The night was cold and the Jacuzzi so wonderfully hot and steamy. In a cream colored one piece, Alcina Angeli finally felt her anger calming down. She'd left the asylum in a rage after her time with Camille, and that rage had bubbled in her body throughout her work out with her trainer and her dinner. Finally now, as she relaxed in the pool area of one of her hotels, she could feel herself sinking into lovely peace and serenity.

Camille would never treat her that way again, she told herself, sipping from her glass of wine as the steam and bubbles around her billowed. Camille would remember her place, knowing she would only be punished for her snippiness and disobedience, and treat her mother with respect. Alcina lifted a brow, and made a mental note that she would rather be feared by her daughter than respected.

And one of her punishments, Alcina decided, would be the death of her so called _beloved_.

It was time to put the monster down. She had made him suffer enough, and to destroy Camille further on the inside, she would kill him very soon. She would tell Camille the news herself, just as she had to Bane when he believed her to be killed, and even go as far as to give Camille the horrifying mask that covered the monstrous face. Picturing that image made Alcina smile. Surely that would be punishment enough, and never would Camille fall out of line for the rest of her days trapped in that wretched insane asylum.

The cell phone at her elbow began to ring. Alcina dried her hand off with the towel nearby, saw that Luis was calling her. She'd told him that she was taking an hour of relaxation time. Surely her lover would never call her if it wasn't an emergency.

"Yes, Luis, what is it?"

"The mercenaries are moving. They were spotted on the highway by a few of our men at the deli. They are all together and their numbers are great."

She rolled her eyes. "I have people on that, Luis. Bane goes where I say he goes."

"Not this time," Luis muttered. He cleared his throat, wished he were back home in Italy far away from his boss after he would tell her the news. "They are all heading north. They are heading to Arkham Asylum, armed and prepared. He knows. Bane knows where your daughter is."

The few moments without the anger meant nothing. It flooded Alcina then, ten times over. She gripped the phone in her hand, her eyes widening in a blazing fury. Luis was lucky that he was not around, for she certainly would have hit something within close range. And knowing that Camille could be taken away from her, it wasn't bothering her as much as something else. She had spoken to Bane himself not too long ago. And all she could hear in her head past the sweltering rage were his words. His threats.

_I will tear this city apart brick by brick until I find her. And then, I will find you. _

Alcina suddenly stood in the Jacuzzi, steaming water dripping down her perfect body. The wine was still in her other hand, her nails digging into the glass hard as she thought. As she planned.

As she pictured Bane and Camille _both_ dead.

"Well then make things more difficult for them, Luis," she snapped angrily. "Do I have to think of _everything_ myself? Call the cops. Tell them anonymously where Bane is going. Do some _fucking_ work for once. All of you, do some _fucking work_!"

Alcina heaved the phone away, smashed the wineglass on the deck of the Jacuzzi right after. She growled softy, her slicked back, damp hair now curling wildly around her angry face. The cops would take care of it, she told herself. Reassured herself. The cops would all gather at the asylum with the hope of apprehending the mercenaries. And Bane's useless threats would be just that, and only that.

"Monster," she hissed.

* * *

The eruption of red and blue lights flooded them as they arrived at the gloomy building of Arkham Asylum. But the various trucks and other vehicles that were Bane's army only saw a challenge. His anger was their anger. His purpose was their purpose. And they would get what they came for tonight, no matter who was killed in the process.

If Camille was still alive, then tonight he would have her back.

The sound of his men's weapons being cocked into place calmed Bane. And he refused to think of it as a repeat of the first night he tried to get her back, only to witness a decoy of her being shot in the head. The Italian's had no traitor to fool him this time. This time, he knew for sure that his woman was here, and that there was no plan in place to deceive him. Barsad sat next to him with his sniper, as silent as he had been since he'd told Bane the truth. Bane was glad for it, because he didn't think he could take more apologies or confessions from him.

He had allowed Barsad to live because he had once been his brother. After tonight, he was done.

Zaid sat in the back with a laptop on his thighs. He gave the side of it a slap, shook his head. "I can't tell you how many cops are out there. All their radios are jamming my signal."

"Stop the trucks," Bane told his men, and waited for the driver to relay the command to the other vehicles.

The cops outside were ready for them, told by someone that the mercenaries were coming. Hordes of police cruisers blocked the entrance to the asylum, their lights flashing wildly, each man and woman who vowed to protect and serve standing armed and dangerous with their pistols pointed steadily. Would they never learn? Bane asked himself as he scouted the area. Would they never understand that Gotham's Finest would never win against him? Without the help of a powerful knight, they were nothing.

His army was huge. His army would _win_.

"Open fire," Bane ordered.

And then the night exploded.

Men and women shouted, guns erupted, and bullets pierced flesh and metal. The cops scrambled to protect the asylum as the mercenaries moved forward, ready to raid the location that had been given to them. With their armor they were protected. With their weapons they were powerful. And with their leader, they were kept in line, determined to succeed.

Barsad readied his sniper, aimed with perfect precision. "I will cover you," he told Bane.

Bane gave him one last look, a final goodbye. Then he looked towards the asylum, and knew his rope was inside waiting for him.

* * *

"Sir, I've activated the security system but I think they're still coming through. The Captain outside told us to stay here."

Jeremiah Arkham loosened his tie and shrugged off his tux jacket, the white dress shirt underneath already stained with nervous sweat. It was supposed to be an average work night. They were supposed to lock up as usual and all go home. But then they had to show up. Now they were under attack and holed up in here with just the Gotham cops to keep them safe. Things weren't looking good. Not good at all. And now this nurse was blubbering in his ear. "Calm down, Jenny. Turn on the backup system, as well. The cops are out there."

"But they're shooting now, sir. I want to leave. I want to go home. I have babies."

"You can't leave if they're shooting—"

"They're going to kill us. They're going to get in here and kill all of us. Because of that girl."

Everything was going wrong. Everything was going straight to hell. And now Bane was here to take away his prize. His revenge for all the years of Camille Lane working here and never listening to him. And Jenny just wouldn't be quiet. Now she was grabbing at his arm like a crazy woman.

"You have to get me out of here. I have babies!"

"Shut the _fuck _up, Jenny!" He shoved her hard, no longer caring about keeping his dignified appearance, and watched as she fell to the floor crying in fear that Bane and his men would kill her.

A mixture between panic and anger consumed him. The last time he'd had contact with Bane, he had almost died. Bane had broken his face and ruptured his eyeball before the Nightwing had come to save him from more damage and possibly death. And now Bane was here again, and most certainly after him for keeping his monster whore locked up like an animal. The panic was for Bane, the anger for Camille. And right now, the anger was winning. He had worked too hard, planned too much for her to be snatched away before he was done with her. He deserved this. Alcina Angeli had promised him Camille so that he could get back at her for his broken face and missing vision. And even though death was breaking down his door, he simply could not allow for his revenge to be taken from him.

Bane would not get Camille. Camille belonged here.

As Jenny cried underneath his desk to try and hide, Jeremiah frantically reached into one of the drawers to retrieve his emergency gun. It was only to be used for safety purposes, and he thought now was as good a time as any to defend himself and what belonged to him. With angry eyes behind his glasses, Jeremiah left Jenny and his office, heading with a purpose to the lost level of Arkham Asylum where his prize was being held in her hot cell.

He would not give Bane the satisfaction of winning. He would rather Camille be dead than return to her masked man. The man she refused to speak of.

He got to her cell, winced some as a loud explosion erupted from outside, something that could have been a car. The walls shook and the lights above flickered, some of the more delusional inmates starting to howl in fear as the war outside raged on. Finally he got to Camille's cell, more sweat starting to build underneath his shirt from the lack of air conditioning. She was hiding underneath her cot with the blanket covering as much of her body as it could, trying to protect her skin from the harsh light beaming straight at her. Jeremiah opened the cell, kicked the light away so that he could get to her. He reached underneath the cot and yanked Camille out from her hiding place.

All her time spent here made her unprepared for abrupt actions such as being yanked around, and all the heat made her dizzy and tired. She yelped a little, tried to fight him as he pulled her up, and looked around frantically from all the commotion. She was only dressed in her gray scrub pants and matching gray sports bra that had been underneath her shirt. It had gotten too hot for her to keep it on. Her little tries at comfort.

"Get up," he snapped, pulling her again when she dropped to the floor in confusion. "_Get up_. Goddamn you, look what you've done."

"I don't want more shock therapy. Please, no more."

The panic was starting to rise again. Jeremiah did all he could to push it back. "Stupid bitch. You're always so much trouble." He grabbed her upper arm with one hand, his gun in the other.

Then heard the screams from further in the asylum as security was compromised. The mercenaries were inside now. Bane was on his way.

_No_.

"Come on," he snarled, and yanked Camille hard as he went in the opposite direction of stomping military feet.

Her long hair wisped behind her as Jeremiah pulled her along, her bare feet barely able to keep up from the heat she felt, and the tiredness. Maybe if she'd felt better she could take him. Maybe in a different time she could beat him and escape. But she couldn't, because she couldn't remember that girl anymore. She couldn't remember how to fight. And she was so confused. She couldn't make sense of what was happening because of all her longs days in the heat, in the bright light, with no one but Jeremiah and her mother to keep her company. She could only be pulled along by her former boss, the sounds of something familiar behind her.

Jeremiah's breath began to pant as he raced through the asylum. His chest was starting to heave from the rising panic, his hands beginning to shake. He knew what was after him. He knew what was just a few yards behind. And he couldn't allow it. Too much had gone into her. Too many promises and expectations of him along the way. He took a sharp right, pulled Camille down a dark flight of stairs into storage from underneath the main building. He heard her whimper some as she tried to keep up with the steps, but he didn't care. He would drag her down on her back to get away from the beast that was following them.

Jeremiah frantically looked back, and heard the menacing stomps of loud, angry boots. The violent hissing of a mask.

Finally he reached the end of the stairs. He gripped Camille's arm and dragged her along, practically jogging with her all the way to the end. Boxes upon boxes were stacked high to the ceiling, old equipment taking up space. And once he reached the end of the line, the panic overflowed. He made a desperate sound deep within his chest, the faint gunshots from outside causing him to jump. Jeremiah yanked Camille, flung her into a set of boxes, and waved the gun at her as she fell to the floor, panting and still so very confused.

"You think you can escape this so easily?" he shouted at her, his hands trembling violently now, his breath pitching and heart thumping wildly in his chest. "You think he can just waltz in here and take you? There is no escape. You're _mine_! Your mother gave you to _me_!" His wild eyes widened as he watched Camille turn away from him and cover her ears with her hands, curling into a ball on the floor. "You didn't want to talk about him. This is all your fault! You _ruined _me!" He lifted his gun, aimed it right at Camille in desperation. He wanted to get back at Bane for destroying his face and his eye. And he would _not_ allow him to take what he came here for. "You've ruined me. Look what you've done, you _monster whore_!"

A force bolted out of thin air and grabbed Jeremiah's wrist that held the gun, squeezing hard and twisting it with a sickening snap on the bones. He howled, the gun instantly falling to the floor as he grabbed at his broken wrist, clutching it to his chest like a wounded child. Instantly he was brought back to the night the monster had attacked him. And instantly, he could remember the pain of a shattered cheekbone, of a thumb pressing into his eye socket and pushing in hard.

_Not again._

Jeremiah fell to his knees, his hand above the broken wrist shaking so badly as it was bent in an awkward way, sending hot daggers of pain and pressure straight up to his shoulder. He growled painfully, clenching his teeth hard and feeling his jaw pop. He forced himself to believe that someone would come save him, just like the last time. Someone had to save him. Important men like him didn't fall victim to criminals.

He heard the boots again. Only this time, they were right next to him. Cradling his arm, Jeremiah slowly looked up as sweat ran down his face, sweat of overflowing panic, and now fear.

He shook his head and bowed, wanting to hold up his good hand in surrender, but the pain in the other was starting to make him sick. And then he began to sob when another hand reached down calmly, and picked up his fallen gun.

"Please," he wept, tears mixing with sweat. He decided then that it wasn't the pain that was making him nauseous. It was terror. "Please, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to. Alcina made me do it. I'm sorry, I'm sorry. Please forgive me."

Jeremiah began to sob louder as the barrel of the gun was then aimed right at his eye, his good eye. His body started to tremble when he stared up at the last face he would see, his stomach about to heave as the gun sneered at him like death, laughing at him. His eyes were pleading, wishing, wanting, hoping that this would not be the end. These things didn't happen to people like him. Someone had to save him. He couldn't be killed by this mass in front of him.

Mechanical muscle with dead eyes.

"It's not my fault. Please, you can take her. Have mercy…"

"Not today." The gun was cocked, angry green eyes finally feeling victory. "Not for you."

Jeremiah Arkham's head snapped back as Bane pulled the trigger, blood erupting from the back of his head once the bullet pierced his real eye. The body fell, a mixture of blood and eyeball running down Jeremiah's dead cheek. Before, the job had been left unfinished. Now this doctor, this man who had imprisoned both Bane and Camille, finally got what had been coming to him from the very beginning. Bane tossed the gun at the body.

Then turned slowly to what lay on the floor. To what he had chased Jeremiah Arkham down to retrieve.

She was on her side, her hands still over her ears and her hair consuming her face. It almost looked the same as when he had stared down at a dead body that hadn't been the one he wanted to see, the one he was glad he hadn't seen that night. Because this body could be her. It was hard to tell as Jeremiah yanked her through the asylum, as he tried with all his pathetic might to keep her away. But this had to be her. Who else could it be? Slowly, Bane crouched down near her, reached with a tentative hand for her hair. His mask stopped hissing with his breath as he felt the tendrils. Before, the other curls had not felt the same.

He knew these curls.

Bane began peeling them away, just like last time, and wanted so badly to see the face he knew, too.

Camille suddenly jumped, yelped as she sprung up and away, scooting back like a crab until her back hit a pile of boxes. She didn't want anyone to touch her. She just wanted Jeremiah to go away, just wanted her mother to leave her alone. They shouldn't be touching her. Why couldn't she just go back to her cell and sleep? She was so hot. So tired. Her shoulders started to tremble from that tiredness. No more touching, no more pulling.

Bane scooted closer, holding up his hands and finally seeing the face he'd been wanting to see for so long. Through the curls he knew, he could see that beautiful face. That face that was here, that was _alive._ Here she was. He had searched so carefully for her, with hardly any evidence that she was still alive, with only a lie to go on. She could have been dead. She could have been taken somewhere he would never be able to find her. Finally.

_Here she was._

And she didn't want him to touch her because she didn't understand who he was.

"Camille," he said softly, her name feeling like soothing water. A name that had once been a dead woman's to him. "Look at me."

She'd kept her eyes shut. But then she heard the voice speaking to her, really heard it, and the flowing, deep mechanical purr to it. No one spoke like that. No one, except for someone she would dream about. Someone she would sleep for just to hear him again. Slowly she opened her eyes, looked through her messy, matted curls to the body crouched in front of her. Who was this dream? This wonderful dream.

"You know me," Bane said to her, reaching forward with his hand, placing his palm on her cheek. He hadn't been able to really talk to her the night she had called him telling him her goodbyes. And he hadn't been able to feel her skin in what felt like an eternity. To feel like now felt like life. "You know me."

Camille stared at him, stared at him like he was the first thing she ever really saw. She did know him. And he believed a lie. A lie she hadn't been able to save him from. "I'm dead to you," she whispered.

Bane shook his head, the mask hissing before he spoke, his voice hoarse as he touched her face. "No. Never. You're right here. I can feel you."

She could remember. She looked at him more closely, truly focusing now. This was the one she would never talk about to her enemies. The one she had protected. Her rope out of the hole. "My… My…"

"My _darling_ Camille," he finished, and brushed his thumb over her lips like a kiss. He used to kiss her that way when he couldn't do it with his mouth. She could remember.

_Her masked man._

"_Bane_," she breathed.

And without another second passing by, they yanked each other close. Bane's arms wrapped around her bare waist, Camille's going around his shoulders and neck. Neither dead nor a dream, both of them were here. Instantly the pain in their chests went away. And instantly the sky returned. Back to the dark. The warm, safe dark.

A world balanced once again.

"You came for me," she whispered, resting her cheek on his shoulder above the armored vest, taking in the smell, the feel, the shape of him she'd craved rotting in this place. And finally she had him again. "I can feel you." She held him close, trying to pull him closer still. "You feel like home."

Bane closed his eyes and squeezed her against him, burying the mouthpiece of his mask in her hair. Her last words to him had been for him not to come. He came for her anyway.

"This is where we met," she said, wanting to talk to him. Only wanting to hear his voice because she hadn't been able to for so long. "We met here, in this place."

"And I will take you away again."

"You came for me."

Bane ran his hands along her skin, over the back of her sports bra and through her hair. He could feel the heat of her skin, the tremble in her body. He knew he needed to find out what happened to her, but for right now they both needed to get to safety. He needed to keep her safe. And never let her go again.

"Always," he answered.

_My beloved. _

Camille leaned back, placed her hands on his masked cheeks so that she could really look at him. She set her forehead against his, and only listened to the sounds of his familiar mask, looked into the green of his incredible eyes. Chanting his name over and over because she hadn't been able to say it, hadn't wanted to remember it so she could save herself some grief and longing. He was here. Not in a dream, but reality. And she was _home._

Bane listened to the guns and shouts from outside the asylum. He stood and helped Camille up, catching her around the middle when she stumbled from her tired, clumsy legs. She held onto his forearm around her bare stomach, forced him to move closer to the dead body near them.

Camille glared down at Jeremiah Arkham, reared her leg back and kicked at his head with all the strength she had left. His shot face turned to the side, the glass eye popping out of his head and rolling away.

He couldn't hurt her anymore.

Bane scooped Camille up, turned her face to his shoulder to protect her, and began heading out of Arkham Asylum so that he could get her home. This was the first place he'd seen her. And they would never come here again. She was here, she was alive.

His rope to the sky.

**TBC**

**A/N: It blows my mind. Some of these scenes were planned even before **_**Mercenary**_** was completed, like the last scene in this chapter. And to finally be able to write them feels very surreal. It's been a year since I started the first one, and I can't believe all that's been done. Thank you so very much for reviewing and messaging me, especially those who've been here since the beginning. Tell me your feels at the reunion. And know that I appreciate you all so very much. Hugs and kisses to you, darlings. **


	21. Before the Dawn

_**Amaranthine**_

**Chapter 21**

**Before the Dawn**

"_If only night could hold you where I can see you, my love. Then let me never ever wake again. And maybe tonight we'll fly so far away. We'll be lost before the dawn." – Evanescence _

Camille decided that being thought dead was much worse that being actually dead.

At least dead, she could have just drifted away to whatever waited for her after life, free from pain, from heartache, from longing. She could have spent eternity doing something different, without any memories of those she had left behind, feeling the peace she hadn't felt the last couple of days before she would be shot by her mother's men. Maybe she would have been able to fully forget about the one she had to leave. The one she'd been taken from. The man in a mask that had become the one person she'd been waiting for all her life.

Actual life had been much crueler than death. Even an assumed death.

Instead of true death, she had drowned in that pain, that heartache, that longing. She had to go to sleep every night knowing that her mercenary wouldn't be looking for her because to him, there was nothing to look for. She had to know that that same man was grieving for her, sitting alone by himself with no one to take care of him. Not in the way she could. Never in the way she could. And she had to understand that, a rational woman who couldn't simply force herself to believe something different.

There were times, all alone and so very hot in her cell, when Camille wished that she really had been the woman to be shot.

A false death was worse than a true death.

Bane carried her through Arkham Asylum, stomping his way to the exit as people ran and screamed and scrambled out of his way, and Camille wondered if there was finally hope of her coming back to life.

She had one arm wrapped around his neck, holding her face against his neck as he moved, his armored vest scratching at her bare skin. But she could barely feel it. All she could feel was the familiar heat of his body, the texture of his skin, the musky male scent of him. Details about him she thought she would never experience again. And it made her remember that finally, she was back home.

In the midst of this war he had raged, she was where she belonged.

Bane kept his gaze in front of him, his cold, determined stare only focusing on the task at hand. He had finally retrieved what was his. Now, he just needed to leave with her. The feeling of actually holding Camille had to be pushed back for the time being. After his long hours of grieving, his mild hesitancy that he could possibly not find her alive when he did find her, all he wanted to do was keep her where she was, if only so that he could feel like the sky had not disappeared. That his rope truly had not been severed.

Talia was wrong. His rope would not be cut. Not while he was still alive.

Finally he reached the main lobby, the big doors that were the entrance to the asylum in sight, and the bright flashes of the red and blue of police shining bright, the sound of gunshots popping through the air. A woman tried to run past him, spotted who he was and instantly fell to the floor screaming, shielding herself with her hands as if he'd come specifically for her. But Bane completely ignored her. He ignored the pathetic security of the asylum as they shouted at him to halt, knowing they were too afraid to come at him with their silly Tasers. And he ignored the police, knowing they had their hands full with his rushing men, his men who would make sure he was protected as he exited into the war with his woman. Bane stopped and stepped back some, surveying his path from the asylum to the vehicles. It reminded him of Gotham's day of reckoning, of the police and his men out to destroy each other for a greater cause.

But there was no Dark Knight to save them now. And Bane didn't think the little bird had as much leverage.

Camille turned her head to see what was going on. She watched men fight each other, Bane's men and the men who had once tried to protect her. Even now they searched for her, hoping to bring her home from the clutches of Gotham's monster. But the police had never helped her when she'd needed them. It was much more rewarding to see the others. Knowing they were here for her.

Her army had come for her.

Bane turned her face away, back to his neck, and lifted her in his arms some to get a better hold. "Close your eyes," he whispered to her, his mask wheezing.

And bolted out in the middle of the fray.

Police shouted at him, aimed their weapons at him only to be shot right in the forehead from a faraway guardian. Another car exploded on the other side of the asylum, sending the ground shaking and the light of the fire blazing. Another officer spotted him, rushed him once he spotted a woman in his arms.

Bane lifted his boot, his long leg extended far enough to have the rushing cop's neck twist from the impact.

The gallantness of Gotham's Finest.

Bane suddenly stopped at the sound of rushing wind, the familiar sound of weaponry. Someone from his side had fired an RPG. Instantly Bane dropped, cradling Camille and covering her as the missile exploded not too far from them, sending cops and pieces of their Cruisers in the air. He felt Camille's arms tighten around him, felt them sneak up behind him as he stood and continued on his way.

Her hands were now covering the back of his mask, protecting the canisters there from any flying debris.

_Darling Camille._

Finally he reached the truck he'd arrived in. He held Camille with one arm as he opened the passenger side door, setting her on the seat. Glancing around, he saw that his guardian had moved.

Barsad was gone.

Bane could remember how it was in Arkham Asylum. He reached on the floor of the truck, picked up one of the unopened water bottles they always had on hand for nourishment purposes. He opened it, gave it to Camille.

She held it with both hands and gulped it down almost instantly.

"You were right," she muttered, taking deep breaths as the cool water slid down her parched throat, the cold of the night piercing her skin. But from living in the heat of her cell, the icy air felt soothing. "They don't give you enough to drink in there."

His men were falling back, knowing the mission was successful. Bane reached for her seatbelt, clicked it and got behind the wheel. He peeled off the property of Arkham Asylum, the place that had held them both, and decided that a bullet for Jeremiah Arkham could never be enough for him, the man that deserved so much more punishment. With just the two of them in the truck, Bane drove away, knowing his men would successfully lead the hounding police on a merry chase before returning to the base. It was silent in the truck, save for the sounds of his hissing mask and Camille's careful breathing. She turned her head to the side, resting it on the seat behind her as she stared out of the window to watch the city rush by, and thought it nice to look at after however long she'd been confined. She wanted to look at Bane, wanted to stare at him and tell herself he wouldn't disappear, like how he had in her dreams. He almost seemed angry, and she didn't really know what to do.

But with a soft hesitancy in her voice, she knew what she needed to say.

Still staring out the window, she asked, "Where's Barsad?"

Bane kept his eyes on the road, hating how weak her voice sounded. Hated that he could tell Camille knew the truth. And still she hadn't instantly told him of his friend's betrayal. It angered him. "I know what he's done. He is no longer mine."

She hated the sorrow of it. "He loves you," Camille said softly, knowing the separation wouldn't be right. "You're his brother."

To hear her defense angered him more. But he kept it controlled as he weaved the truck through the streets of Gotham. "You don't need to protect him anymore."

Protection, she repeated in her head. That must have been what she was doing. That must have been the reason why she'd never told Bane of their arguments, of Barsad's feelings of being convinced that she would become just like Talia. Camille wondered who had told Bane the truth. But hearing the hurt and anger in his voice answered that question. "I understand him," she said, and left the subject alone then, left it alone and sunk into the silence of the truck.

But Bane didn't want silence. He wanted answers. Answers to very important questions, questions that had kept him up most of the nights that Camille had been gone. And he didn't think he could rest even now until he knew those answers. He stewed in his discomfort, giving her time, giving both of them time because so much had happened. Camille was alive. Camille was with him again.

And Bane wanted to kill someone.

"Did anyone touch you, Camille?"

She could remember being dragged from a flipped car, beaten by mobsters, cut by the Joker. Injuries she wasn't sure Bane had really taken in yet. "What do you mean?"

She wasn't stupid and she knew him. She knew what he was asking, and her lack of an instant answer had him gripping the steering wheel hard. "You know," he muttered. "Answer me."

She could remember all of those things done to her. And she could remember being shoved to her knees as a faceless man fumbled with his pants. What Bane was really asking about. "No," she whispered, giving him the only answer she wanted to give right now.

"I want to know what happened to you."

"I don't want to talk about it. I just want to go home."

How could he object to that? How could he press her when he could hear the longing in her voice for her own bed, her own space. The bed and space they shared. The places he would never be without her again. "You will tell me," he said darkly, swerving the truck. "Soon."

He had to stop at a red light, not wanting to risk being pulled over and causing another commotion right when he was trying to get her home. Camille stared at the pedestrians, watched two in particular. A young woman was holding the hand of a small toddler, both bundled up in their winter clothes. The girl's chestnut brown curls under a bright pink hat bounced as she jumped around her mother, lifting her arms up and waiting. The young woman smiled warmly, bent and picked her child up, holding her fondly as she crossed the street at the crosswalk, oblivious to the chaos just a couple miles away. Camille kept her eyes on them as the light turned green, and wondered what it would be like to have a mother like that. To have been a daughter like that.

"How long was I gone?" she asked quietly, glad she couldn't see the two anymore.

"Sixteen days," Bane answered.

More silence, and suddenly Camille hated it. Hated it just as much as Bane. She didn't want to be reminded of her failures. She didn't want to remember that her mother had broken her down again, and had crushed her. She only wanted to be with him again. Angry or not, she would take it all just to be here now next to him.

"I tried calling for you. When you saw that girl get shot." The lights of the city flashed on her face, the nameless people walking by just jumbled blurs. Why would Bane want to stay here? Why would he ever want to return to this place? "I watched you… watch me die. And I tried to call you." Her hands were shaking. She could feel the faint tremor in them, and tried to ignore it. "You couldn't hear me."

Bane couldn't look at her. He couldn't see what his enemies had done to her right now. But he did want to touch her. And with his eyes planted firmly on the road in front of him, he slowly placed the back on his hand on the cushion between them, his palm out. It took a few moments, but then he felt her fingers weave through his, almost like a secret. She softly grasped his hand, her face still turned away.

He tried to ignore the shaking, too.

* * *

Later on, they were both in the bathroom of the apartment. Water poured from the shining faucet of the large Jacuzzi tub to the side of them, filling it up with hot, steaming water. Just the way she liked it. As the tub filled, Bane helped Camille undress, doing most of the work for her because he felt like he had to. Camille stared at nothing as he bent to pull the ugly gray scrub pants down her hips and legs, the same ones he'd had to wear during his time there. Next went a pair of matching gray boxer shorts underneath, apparently standard issue for female inmates. He wrapped an arm around her waist to steady her as she stepped out of them, tossing both articles of clothing to the side of the bathroom.

Bane found that he wanted to… check her to make sure she hadn't been lying to him about anyone touching her. He knew the way she was built and could spot the slightest trauma. Instead, he stood back up, watching her as she tried to untangle some of her curls.

And finally, in the bright light of the bathroom, with no goal of safety in mind, he saw everything.

Bane stared at her mouth as she fiddled with her hair. Someone had cut her. Someone had sliced that pouty mouth from her bottom lip to her chin. It was in the process of healing, but it was still there. Her lovely lips. One of the first features about her that had attracted him. He dropped his eyes some, saw a faint red mark around her neck, followed by matching marks around her upper arms. Blotches of yellow appeared here and there along the rest of her body, the signs of healing bruises. His eyes went back to her mouth, stared at her cut. When she had spoken to him on the phone shortly after she'd been taken, she had asked him to tell her she was beautiful.

Now he knew why. And he could barely stand it.

Camille realized that Bane was just standing in front of her motionless. Slowly she looked up at him, into his green eyes and knew what they were staring at.

She frowned.

She knew how Bane felt about her mouth. Even though he could rarely ever kiss her, she knew that he had an alluring pull to her lips. Now her mouth was cut. Now her face was marred. She didn't care about the injury scaring. Both of them had enough scars to deal with every day. But just the fact that a feature about her he loved was now damaged made her feel sad.

A terrible kind of sad.

Bane saw her reaction and wondered if she felt awkward to be standing here half naked. Distracting them both from her injuries, he reached for the hem of her gray sports bra and pulled it over her head, her arms lifting so he could remove it. He wanted to look more at her body, but didn't want her to think he wanted sex. He just wanted to look, and remember.

Camille turned away from him and climbed into the hot water of the tub, turning off the faucet and breathing in the peppermint soap she'd poured in beforehand. Her black hair floated on top of the water and rested there, her curls too matted to sink. The water felt so good on her skin, so soothing, anticipation sizzling in her at the prospect of being fully clean and comfortable. The tub was big enough for her to lounge comfortably. But instead, she sat on her knees as the surface lapped at the swell of her breasts.

Bane watched her for a moment, then looked to the closed bathroom door.

"You can go," Camille said from the tub, dipping her head back to wet all of her hair. "I can wash myself."

He wanted to wash her hair. He wanted to clean her himself. "I must go see to them," he said instead, speaking of his men that were steadily arriving back from the struggle with the cops. There was no Barsad to keep everything in line now.

"It's okay," she said through the steam, turning her back to him but peeking at him over her bare shoulder. "I'll be fine. Thank you for helping me."

Bane stood by the door, watching carefully. Something told him to stay, but he needed to check on his men. Camille then picked up her shampoo that had waited for her to return, and began washing her hair, big drops of soap falling in the bath with her. He watched a few moments more, trying to resist the escalating want he was suddenly feeling for her, knowing intimacy was most likely the last thing on her mind. Instead, he silently left the bathroom, closing the door behind him.

It was a process to clean her hair the way it needed to be cleaned. She shampooed twice, conditioned three times to help with the matting, and took the comb she'd kept on the side of the tub so she could brush out her wet hair. She pulled out mounds and mounds of black, tangled hair, emotionlessly ripping the tendrils from the comb and setting them to the side until a big black ball began to form. Her skin started to redden from the temperature of the water, but she didn't care. All she wanted to do was continue to rip out her hair until the matting released. The ball on the side got bigger, more strands of her hair floating on the surface of the water like snakes. The cut on her mouth tingled from the steam. When she finally ripped out the last of the matted hair, she was able to brush through it like she normally would have. Her hair felt a lot thinner now, but it didn't really matter. After her hair was combed and she'd washed the rest of her body, Camille leaned back and lounged in the tub, carelessly tapping at the water's surface so she could hear something other than silence. She then picked up her razor, lifted her leg and began to shave her calf.

Washing her hair and her body were just motions, along with shaving. Things she would do all the time and didn't have to think about too much. Things she could do, and think a million other thoughts.

Her sadness was slowly intensifying.

Camille had promised herself never to return to the hole. She'd promised herself that she would find meaning after her time with her mother as a young adult, and had continued to have that meaning even after Bane. She had promised herself never to allow her mother to tire her out again, never to hurt her or hear her harsh, mean words. She would never do for her mother again, would never feel this way for Alcina's benefit.

She had freedom again. And she could barely understand it.

All alone now when she knew she shouldn't have been, she could barely differentiate freedom and captivity.

The way Bane had looked at her… she felt ugly. The way she felt now with only the soft lapping water as sound made her feel alone. And the heat of the water was only reminding her of the heat of the cell, the heat in her room when she'd been young causing her to feel like she couldn't breathe.

And she couldn't breathe, she realized, finished with shaving her calves and thighs. She couldn't breathe at all. Her head felt dizzy, clouded. Alone. And she couldn't breathe.

_Why am I so sad? _

She couldn't remember anything all of a sudden. She couldn't even remember her name. The only thing she could remember was the hole. The deep, dark hole. And only one kind of comfort in her loneliness.

_Maybe somebody shouldn't have left the bathroom. _

The thought was instantly swallowed up with everything else.

Camille lifted her forearm, looked at her scars on her wrist and below it. The slashes, some small and some a little larger, were spaced apart in a precise way. She gripped the shaving razor in her other hand, stared at a spot on her skin that had somehow managed to remain unmarked. Her eyes were flat, emotionless. She felt like a zombie. She felt like a corpse, unable to think clearly because she couldn't seem to think at all.

But she knew what she wanted to feel. The only thing she had ever been able to feel because she was in the hole again. _So alone. _

With her eyes almost unseeing now, Camille lifted the razor and placed it on that unmarked spot, and sent the blade quickly over her skin with precise precision.

She closed those blank eyes with a sigh as she felt her blood running to the inside of her elbow and into the water of the bath. And because she always found a way to be perfect in this area, she transferred the razor to her other hand and did the same thing on the other side, all behind closed eyelids.

It stung and felt so good. It felt wrong and felt right. It was an ending and a beginning. Sorrow and comfort. Failure and triumph.

And it gave her that wonderful emotion of feeling absolutely nothing at all.

She dropped the bloody razor onto the floor outside the tub, and sank down into the water. The lovely, hot water that could become a cave. A special hiding place where she could continue to be alone. The back of her head hit the bottom of the tub, and Camille slowly opened her eyes. Her blood swirled through the water like a beautiful dance of color above her, putting on a show for her to pass the time. She watched for a few moments, ignored the hitch of her chest, the sting in her lungs as they screamed for air. But she didn't need air. All she needed was this small comfort. There was no other kind in the hole. Not for her.

She closed her eyes.

Bane approached the bathroom, thoughts of his next move following him from seeing to his men. The ones who'd arrived were fine, slightly injured but able to do the work, and more were showing up as the night went on. He had to make sure that everything had gone smoothly, since there was no second in command to do that for him now. He would have to fix that very soon. He opened the bathroom door.

And his eyes went instantly to the bloody razor on the tile, a trail of red smearing down the side of the tub. He snapped his gaze to the bath, saw Camille missing.

He rushed to the tub once he spotted a few air bubbles float to the soapy surface where her head should have been.

_He never should have left her alone. _

Bane hurled his hands into the water, reached inside and grabbed her. He yanked her up, glared menacingly at her as she began to cough horribly, hoarse coughing as water dripped from her reddened skin. Her hands instantly came up to his chest, resting on his armored vest and grasping him there, blood oozing down her forearms. She squinted her eyes open and shut to get water out of them through her coughing, through gasping, shaking her head and panting as she tried to find breath.

And saw him. Finally saw him with wide, seeing eyes.

_What had just happened to her?_

Camille made a desperate sound as she stared up at his very angry face, as she jumped some from the evident pain she was suddenly feeling from the cuts with a now clearing mind. She looked at him, at her forearms, him again. Back and forth until the weight of what she'd done fell on her chest, on her heart. What she'd done to herself.

Again.

She shook her head some more, either trying to continue to clear it or tell him something different. Her naked skin above the water started to shiver from the cold, making the heat of her blood running down her arms hotter. But nothing was burning her as much as the heat of his expression. What had she done?

"Bane," she whispered.

"You would leave me," he said darkly, staring down at her accusingly, holding her half out of the tub because he couldn't watch her drown herself. The red of her blood in the water, on her skin, and on the floor seemed to laugh at him, telling him that she had wanted something else. That he had not been worth it. "You would leave me this way."

"I'm sorry," she said desperately, trying to make it better. Anything to make it better. But she had been so sad. And he had not been there. She thought she would be okay by herself. She hadn't been. "I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry." She wrapped her arms around his neck even as he yanked her against his chest, holding each other close through anger and apology. She continued to pant to catch her breath as she held him, her naked chest pressed against his vest. "I'm… I'm not okay. I'm not fine. I'm so sorry."

She was soaking him. He could feel her blood running down his back, and her wet hair sticking to his hands. But he held her against him, naked and wet and bloody. His darling Camille.

Naked and wet and bloody.

* * *

Bane had pulled the stopper from the drain, telling her with an angry voice that her bath was done regardless if she'd finished or not. Luckily she had. Now Camille sat on the edge of their bed, dressed in a black long-sleeved shirt with the sleeves rolled to her elbows and baggy sleep shorts for comfort, looking down at her newly cut forearms like a naughty child as Bane sauntered around the apartment. She could tell he was very upset, and why shouldn't he be upset? He had just discovered her alive, after all this time. And then she'd done something like this for him to find. The night she had cut her thigh in depression so long ago was different. They hadn't even become lovers at that point and Bane had just needed her to create his medicine for him. But even then, he'd still patched her up. Had still tried to give her some kind of advice so that she wouldn't harm herself again. And she hadn't, for all this time.

She could only imagine what he was going through now, after everything they'd been through together.

And what the worst part of it all was, was the fact that Bane had counted on her never to leave him. He had trusted her to stay, to be here for him so that he could have somebody. She'd promised him that. Promised him when she knew he used to feel insecure about it.

Only to cut herself tonight, and fall into the silent void of dark water as she bled.

Bane angrily retrieved medical supplies, kneeling in front of her on the floor with an annoyed grunt as he set the tools on the bed next to her. His position made them eye level, nowhere for either of them to look, nowhere to hide. He turned Camille's arms over to see to her cuts, felt like slapping her, felt like shaking her for trying this again.

Camille watched his face as he cleaned her cuts, felt the rising shame burning her insides. "I wasn't thinking," she said softly, wanting to tell him the truth. Wanting him to believe something different. "I was suddenly so sad and I couldn't think. I didn't mean for this to happen."

"It doesn't matter," he said, wiping the blood away. "We were supposed to have been past this, Camille. I wasn't supposed to have to tend to you this way again. Not after the last time. Not after this." He tapped her on her thigh, on the raised scar there from the shard of a broken mirror. "It doesn't matter," he repeated, and it was almost sadly.

It killed her.

"I'm sorry," she said again in a whisper, her heart hurting. "Please don't think what you're thinking. Please don't believe that."

"What else can I believe?" he asked, lifting her forearms to show her what she'd done to herself. "The evidence is here, right here. More cuts." Bane raised his gaze, looked into her sad eyes. Her beautiful black eyes he once thought he would never see again. And maybe… she still wasn't here. "There are enough on you," he murmured, looking down slightly to the cut on her mouth.

Camille's chin trembled, and she forced herself not to cry. She hadn't cried in so very long and couldn't bear to start now. She could only look back at him, at this lovely man who had become everything. The one she'd been taken from and the one who had come to save her. But he had saved her a long time ago. And without him, she knew she was completely lost. She lifted her hands to his masked cheeks, held his face even as he had conflicting feelings of wanting to move away and of wanting to stay utterly still so that he could feel her touching him.

He just wanted to feel her. To remind himself that she was still here.

"I would never leave you," she said to him, telling him the truth. Telling him again to give him peace. She'd had a relapse, but it wasn't her true intensions. And she needed him to know it. Her masked man. "I can't leave you. Never. How could I leave you? I…" She shook her head and looked down, breathed something under her breath so quietly he could hardly hear it. But he did hear the end of it, and knew it was a soft whisper that said, "So much…"

_Because I… so much._

Bane didn't think they could ever really say something like that to each other. The words were very hard, because they had been said to other people by both of them who didn't deserve it, who didn't need it or want it. People like them shouldn't say things like that. The words were hard…

But he could take this.

"I have to tell you…" she began, her hands starting to slightly tremble again, her gaze down and away from his eyes. "In case… In case something else happens. So you know. I have to tell you… how I feel…"

It was a struggle, and he could understand it. He was possibly the only person who _could_ understand it. He watched her struggle to continue, knew what she was trying to tell him as she tried to fight the difficulty of it. Bane took her wrists, pulled them away from his face but continued holding them. The cuts on her forearms were beginning to slightly bleed again, speckles of blood starting to simmer up from her veins. But he could only concentrate on her face, on the words she was trying to tell him. He'd never heard them before. "You don't have to say it," he told her. If he'd never heard the words before then it was something he didn't need. He could live without them. "I don't need to hear it."

"But something might happen to me again. If something happens… then I can never tell you."

"Camille." She was afraid, he realized. She was afraid she would have to experience something again, something similar to calling for him when he thought she'd been shot, and him never being able to hear her. It had been hard for her to see that. To scream and scream and scream for him, and never being heard. He didn't need the words, he thought to himself again. She didn't need to say it. "I know," he murmured to her. "Stop talking."

Relief was nice to feel. Relief was something she hadn't felt in a while, not since being taken from him. And to feel it now was very nice indeed. The words were hard.

They didn't have to be said right now.

Bane went back to tending to her cuts, disinfecting them and cleaning the very inside. She held perfectly still, perfectly calm, never even flinching when he had to get right in between the ripped meat of her flesh. "I am still very angry with you," he commented, knowing he'd been angry for so many things since he'd put her in the truck to drive away from Arkham Asylum. Bane looked at her new cuts, at all the other ones that had come before it, and wondered if there would be another time like tonight when her old ways would come back to pain her again.

And he would still be here, cleaning her up.

He stood, setting his hand on the bed to lift himself from the floor. He gave her a serious look when she gazed up at him with that sad face again, that pale, sunken face caused by her time with her mother. "I need to find bandages. Stay right there. If you move I will handcuff you."

Camille wanted to tell him that she wouldn't cut herself again, that he didn't need to put her on any kind of suicide watch. But because she knew it would make him feel better to feel secure with his threats, she kept quiet, and simply nodded. When he returned he went back to his place kneeling in front of her, taking her wrists and lifting them so he could wrap the middle of her forearms for protection. Just as he was finishing with the last of the bandaging, he noticed her fist clenched.

"What are you holding?" he asked her, continuing to wrap her arm.

Camille stayed quiet, waited until he finished, until she looked like someone who _should_ be on a suicide watch at the asylum, and slowly opened her hand.

Resting on her palm was a small syringe filled with a golden liquid.

Bane stared at it, and didn't think she could make him angrier than what he already was.

Pamela Isley have given her two syringes for his pain.

Without lifting his eyes, he asked, "And just where is the other one?"

Camille knew this wasn't the reunion they both had been wishing for. This reunion now was coming with anger, dangerous actions, and blood. Now, she would just be adding to it. But why stop here? She took a breath before answering, already knowing his reaction wouldn't be a good one. "The day before I was taken… I tested them, to make sure she hadn't poisoned them. I spent hours looking for something fatal while you were out. I checked multiple times, but I couldn't find anything dangerous. So… I took one myself."

Bane stared at the small needle, the pretty liquid inside it. Neither of them could have known what was really in there, if Pamela really had decided to terminate him using his own pain against him. And after his last meeting with her, leaving her in her lovely lingerie after she'd tried to seduce him, he was even more untrusting of her. Hearing this now from Camille made him so very angry. She could have been poisoned. If her calculations had been just the tiniest bit off, she could have died. Bane didn't really know what to focus on. The fact that Camille had done a stupid experiment without him knowing, or that she was still here because that experiment had been successful.

It was a very conflicting emotion. But over all of that, he was still angry. Why was he so angry?

Too much was going on, that's why, his brain told him. And he couldn't relax.

"You took one."

Camille too stared at the syringe. She could feel the heat of his rage, and couldn't bear to look at him as she disappointed him some more. "It's not poison. It does exactly what she said it would do."

"What are you trying to do to me, Camille? Are you purposely trying to cause me more pain? As I sit here bandaging you up this way, you will tell me that you risked your life because of the word of your _lady friend_? Why would you even try it?" His voice held a growl to it, and then it seemed a little lost. She looked up at him then, noted the haziness to his eyes that was evidence of rising emotion. And watching him, looking into that emotion, she could see that this was hardly about anything he was talking about, and everything at the same time. "Why would you make me feel like this? Why didn't you tell me _where you were_?"

Camille stared at him, and could see everything from him. He was angry for a lot of things, but mostly for her being taken from him, taken in a way that he'd believed had been death. The night she spoke to him on the phone, she could have given him some kind of clue, put him on some kind of path to her whereabouts. But she'd kept him in the dark to protect him. To keep him from the pain she hadn't been able to save him from in the end. "I had to protect you. No one else protects you like I do." She wanted him to feel peace. She wanted to regain the relationship she had with him before her mother had come and ruined everything for both of them. And maybe, with the help of a little needle, she could get them there again. She lifted her hand, holding the syringe like an offering to him.

His mask hissed sharply when he scowled, just slightly.

Camille frowned, wanting to stop the sadness, the turmoil from both of them. "I'm… I'm having a hard time," she admitted quietly, telling him a truth she never would have before. They were both too proud to admit when they weren't feeling good. But maybe the truth would help. "I just…" She stopped, took a deep breath. "I just want to kiss you."

Bane stared at the syringe, and remembered what Camille had told him it could do for him. Three hours without pain. Three hours without his mask. He felt he was too angry to kiss his woman for three hours. And he felt like it was all he wanted to do. Three hours.

He would never have those three hours for the rest of his life. Not without that sparkling golden blocker.

Before he could change his mind, Bane turned his head to the side, baring his neck. Pamela's remedy would target his pain receptors, and needed to be close to his brain. Camille had used it without telling him, and she was still here. She had trusted the facts when she proved them to be true.

He trusted his woman.

Camille felt she could gasp at his compliance. And before either of them could think too much about it, because they knew they needed what this concoction could give them, she quickly uncapped the needle, and gently slid the sharp tip into the meaty flesh of his neck.

He didn't feel anything. But maybe that was the point.

Camille waited a moment, watching him carefully. He could feel her gaze on him, but he couldn't look at her. How could this have happened to them? he thought, waiting just as she was waiting. How could this separation, and what it had come with, throw them so off course? Camille was cutting herself again and he didn't know how to make anything better. Didn't know how to get rid of this anger. Camille was hurting herself, his enemies were rising together, and his oldest friend had betrayed him. He couldn't relax, he repeated in his head. Bane felt like he could never relax again. He felt her hands on his cheeks, turned his face to her. And closed his eyes.

Camille began unlatching his mask, unclipping what needed to be unclipped and pulling his lifeline apart. She did it expertly, almost as expertly as he would, the skills there from having played with his mask long before he'd even met her for research. And when real air rushed up to his mouth after all the latches were undone, when the hiss of the gas that kept him alive ceased, Bane realized that it was truly happening. No morphine this time, no oxycodone. A time limit that was for much longer than anything he'd ever had before. Three hours.

Three hours of freedom. Of normalcy.

She pulled the mask away, set it on the floor by his feet. She looked at his face, at the skin she could rarely see. It was interesting to see him this way, even though this was the way she'd first met him, without the mask. She could remember the evident pain taking over his features then, the suffering he'd gone through without it. For that alone she'd never resented the mask after they'd become lovers. She would rather him have it on than off, if only so that he would be okay.

He was very handsome, she realized again, something she always did every time she saw him bare. His face was scarred, his nose slightly crooked from horrible fracture, the skin of his face pale and indented from the gripping confines of the mask's straps. But even with all of that, she could lose her breath at the sight of him.

And maybe, she would never get used to the effect he had on her.

Bane waited for it, waited for the crippling pain, the lie a gorgeous woman had told them. But when he continued to feel nothing, he was starting to rethink. Bane opened his mouth slightly to breathe the fresh air, or what was fresh air to him, sucking it in straight to his lungs like it was the first breath he ever took.

There was no pain. There was no pain.

_No pain at all. _

He opened his eyes, and looked at his woman. Looked at her like she was the only thing he could ever look at. She lifted her hands, touched his face, ran her fingers down the places she could never touch. His face felt sensitive, and he almost wanted to flinch away. But then she leaned forward, and he couldn't move a muscle.

"Don't be mad at me," she whispered to him, bringing her face closer, her mouth closer to his. She placed her hands under his jaw, slid her thumbs over his cheeks. And gently kissed the corner of his lips. "I'll never leave you. Not again. I can't function without you." She kissed the other corner, his chin, his jaw. All the places she never could before. "You're everything to me." She kissed his face all over then, soft pecks of her pouty mouth. Her cut mouth. But it hardly mattered. "Please stop being so angry. I'm sorry for hurting you. I'm here. I'm right here."

Bane watched her face as she kissed him, feeling the rush of need for her. Feeling that grip of wanting that could be terrible and amazing at the same time. And suddenly, that need, that want, eradicated his anger. Destroyed it and left it in a crumbling heap. He could remember saying certain things to her the night they'd visited Pamela Isley, before she had been stolen away and he had become lost. He'd told her he needed her. Camille brought her lips closer to his, just the smallest whisper away. She opened her mouth some, their breath mingling, their need rising to peak. He wanted to taste her. He wanted nothing more than to taste her mouth.

_Even when you're gone I still need you…in a thousand ways. _

Bane suddenly gripped her waist, made her gasp at the hard quickness. That gasp was done right against his mouth, driving him crazy. Straight to madness.

"Kiss me," he growled, and was lost to the madness.

Camille wrapped her arms around his neck, and took his mouth with hers.

Every kiss felt like the very first kiss. Their lips tasted, their tongues pleasured, and all that could be felt was the very willing, very deprived mouth of the other. Bane still gripped her waist, chased her mouth as she leaned back on the bed. He kissed her, and his senses felt painfully exquisite. So painful, so sensitive, he didn't know if he could handle it for such a long amount of time. Every kiss felt like the very first kiss…

And then suddenly, the full weight of reuniting with each other fell heavy on their chests.

They can never have enough. They can never stop. Since the first moment they saw each other everything had changed, changed forever. There was nothing else for them.

Never again.

The damaged spoke to the damaged, the dark to that same dark. She was alive and here. He could be secure and peaceful. Together. The dark. The damaged.

The same.

* * *

An hour later, they were still lost in the kiss.

Bane had pulled her shirt off, her shorts down. Camille had tried to unbuckle the heavy armored vest, and he'd had to help her. It wasn't so much about sex. It was to feel skin on skin, simple and pure contact that hadn't been had for so long. She felt the heavy weight of him on top of her when he was stripped to a pair of boxer briefs and she in nothing but her panties, but it was a familiar weight. A weight she'd craved for in the hot confines of her cell. She opened her mouth, took his tongue again, and realized that she could stay just like this for many more hours to come.

The only thing that was bothering her was the increasing gentleness he was giving her.

She didn't want gentle. Gentle wasn't what he normally gave her. Gentle was for the false love of Talia al Ghul. He had always touched her with possession, with strength. And it was upsetting her because she knew it was only coming from the ordeal he'd saved her from. She was pale and sunken from her captivity, had been sad and delirious enough to cut her skin again. She had been kept from proper food and water, proper treatment of her injuries. And he was only trying to be aware of it, to not crush her as he ravaged her mouth with his.

She hated the gentleness because gentleness was not normal between them.

Camille rubbed her thighs against his sides as he rested between them, holding him close as she breathed against his mouth, neither of them wanting to move an inch away. To kiss him was something she rarely got to feel. And neither of them wanted to waste the time given. But she was steadily getting annoyed, annoyed with every soft caress of his fingers, every gentle brush of his hands. She wanted to do nothing but continue to kiss him. And she wanted to push him away.

"Stop," she whispered against his mouth, opened it again to taste him some more. A wet smacking sound was heard as their lips parted. "Stop… stop touching me that way…"

Bane ignored her even as he heard her, and sucked on her bottom lip gently to avoid aggravating the cut there.

"I'm not going to break. Damn it," she breathed, and turned her face to the side.

Bane could hear the annoyance in her voice, but it didn't stop him. He was a crazy man with the use of his mouth, and all he wanted to do was taste and taste and taste her where he never got to taste her before. He kissed the side of her face as she turned it away, heard her soft sigh of pleasure as he moved his lips down, kissing her repeatedly down her cheek and over her jaw, right onto her neck. He leaned back a little and stared at the skin there for a moment, the faint reddened ring around her neck. Then opened his mouth against her neck and kissed her there too.

He made her shiver, and tasted her again. "You really are a sweet one," he murmured against her neck, grazing his teeth over her pulse.

His voice caused her to shudder, his lips moving lower and making her head feel fuzzy. "Stop treating me like a doll. Stop being like this." She couldn't catch her breath, she couldn't seem to think rationally. But she did know she didn't want to be handled like fragile glass. Bane's mouth on her was making her feel like she was high, so high up she could barely stand it. But there was still that small amount of sadness lingering under the surface, her sadness of everything that had happened, everything that had been said to her while she was gone. The sadness of having been separated from him that couldn't seem to go away even as he was on top of her now.

Bane didn't care what she said, what she thought. Usually, yes, he was rough with her. But he was also aware, also very connected with the fact that even though she didn't want gentle, it was what she needed. She _was_ fragile, for right now. He could see it in her face, in the bandages covering her forearms that were scratching at his own skin when she held him. He slid his fingers into her hair, her thinned hair from the balls of black tendrils he'd spotted in the bathroom, and moved his lips further down.

She wouldn't be quiet, so he would have to ignore her.

Bane set most of his weight on his knees and gazed down at her chest. This was all so very new to him. He could sleep with a hundred women with the mask on and still have everything feel completely different without it, with his mouth bare. Camille was the only woman he'd ever kissed. And now she would be the only body he would ever taste. Her face was still turned away as he moved his hand to touch one of her breasts, holding her flesh as he leaned down and tasted the skin covering her sternum. She was so pale, almost translucent, and her skin tasted faintly of peppermint from the bath. Bane wasn't sure if there was a certain way a man went about something like this, so all he had was instinct and his own wants to go on.

But he knew what he wanted.

Camille didn't know what was wrong with her. She was trained in areas such as this and she couldn't help herself if her life depended on it. As she'd been kissing Bane, as he had sampled her skin for the first time, she had to fight growing wells of tears coming to her eyes, pushing back the pressure building in her face and focusing on his uncovered mouth she would only have for a short amount of time. She wanted to forget everything. She didn't want to think at all. She felt Bane squeeze her breast gently, felt comfort in the touch of his hand.

Then she let out a desperate groan when she felt his mouth consume her breast.

Her mind exploded, her skin blazing with sensation. She hadn't felt a man's mouth on her like this since she'd been married. Bane had only ever used his time without the mask to kiss her, and only once to use his mouth on her between her legs. But this was different. This was unhurried, not desperate because there was no quick time limit. He could taste her where he wanted to taste her. And she could simply feel it.

He must have really been enjoying the taste of her breast, sliding his tongue over her nipple before sucking her back in, since now he was pressing his crotch against hers, wanting to feel contact against the erection he'd had for some time now. His gentleness must have gone forgotten, she figured, sighing deeply and placing her hands on top of his bald head as he moved to her other breast. She gasped sharply as he bucked hard against her, just once with his powerful hips. He'd done the same thing earlier, after the first few minutes of kissing her, and had quickly regained himself before going back to being gentle.

He did the same thing now, easing his hips back and moving his mouth up to kiss her lips again.

Camille kissed him back, sliding her tongue over his, making him groan as she did it slowly and sensually, raking her nails up his back at the same time. She wanted to forget, she told herself again. She didn't want to cry, didn't want to feel like she was as weak as she thought she was right now. And because she knew what _could_ make her forget, she kissed his mouth deeply and pulled his crotch back to hers with her legs hooked around him.

Bane responded by pulling his hips back again, then reaching down to readjust his underwear over his throbbing cock.

She sighed, annoyed, and sucked at his lips before pulling away. "What are you doing? Stop that," she whispered sadly.

Bane stared at her mouth, her swollen mouth from his kisses, and panted softly, wanting more but finding it extremely hard to restrain himself. "I don't want to hurt you."

"You won't. Please, just… don't treat me like that. I want to be normal." She gazed up at him so sadly he felt something in him crack. Something that was on the verge of breaking completely. "I want to be normal," she repeated softly, sliding her fingers over his own swollen, lovely full lips. "I want to forget. Help me forget. Just be with me."

Undressing her for the bath, he hadn't wanted her to think he wanted sex, even though he had to resist the steadily rising desire for her. When she'd saved him from the pit so long ago he had pounced on her like an animal from being separated from her. But now was different. She had been kidnapped by her own family, held in an insane asylum, and from the marks on her body he knew she'd been tortured in some way. He'd thought sex now would be too soon for her. But maybe…

Maybe she just needed the connection. Camille leaned up, pecked his mouth softly before laying back down. He could see the tempest in her eyes, swarming in the black of them with a pleading desire for him to take her.

How could he say no to her now?

Bane sat up so he could pull her panties down her hips and toss them away. Camille watched patiently as he did the same thing to his own underwear before holding her arms out to him so he could pick her up. This would be the first, and possibly the only time when they could have sex without his mask on. Bane held her thighs as he set her on his own, leaning her back against the wall behind the bed so they could be face to face. His erection poked at her, the need he'd had a hard time ignoring, pulsing against her in an aching way. Bane stared at her face and tilted his head, bringing his lips close enough to hers so he could feel the heat radiating off her skin. Their parted lips touched just barely as they breathed against each other, as he gripped her thighs to lift her right over the head of his cock. And then she was sinking down, being stretched with that wonderful girth, filled with that great length. He pushed her down until he couldn't go any further, felt he would explode here and now from her tight grip that had been taken away from him. He groaned against her mouth as she let out a soft whimper and clenched around him, twitching in his arms from penetration. He still needed her.

_In a thousand ways. _

He wrapped his arms around her waist, leaned against her just barely, and for the first time kissed a woman as he moved inside of her.

It was so different, so mind-blowing. It was like having sex for the very first time. Camille had forgotten what it was like after being the lover of someone who couldn't kiss her, and Bane had never experienced it at all. They kissed each other deeply, ravenously, almost as if all the nourishment in the world was in that one, giving mouth. Bane pressed her against the wall as he bucked into her, her wetness slicking him, undoing him as her mouth feasted at his. She gasped and moaned when he hit her sweet spot, brushing against it over and over again just to hear the sounds she made, those lovely sounds he thought he would never hear again. She held his face as her tongue brushed against his bottom lip, then her moans were eaten up by his mouth. Her hands grabbed at his head as he pumped into her, but he only gripped her waist and continued to destroy her. To kiss her. This was the way of normal couples.

But they had never been a normal couple.

"Do you remember the first time I had you?" he asked her huskily against her mouth as he continued to pump.

"Yes," she breathed, and sucked at his lips.

"You were so hesitant, so unsure. Almost reluctant. Please wait, you said." Bane leaned down and bit at her shoulder gently, something she would always do to him. It had the same overwhelming effect on her. "Now you refuse to wait. Now you submit to me completely. Everything in you is ready for me."

And just like that first time, his voice was sending her over the edge. She could feel her orgasm building, the pressure rising and rising before she would overflow. And her heart beat like a pounding fist. She thought she would never feel like this again trapped in an asylum's cell. To feel it now, after her confinement, was so overpowering she didn't quite know what to do with herself.

"Even then I thought you were beautiful." Bane groaned as he pushed the tip of his cock to her limit, stayed there to feel her tight wet grip. He eyed the cut on her mouth and chin, kissed her there as she shuddered in his arms before taking her mouth again. "You are beautiful, darling Camille. _Habibati._"

Desperately she wrapped her arms around his neck, panted against his mouth as he scooted them back so she could ride his lap even as he pumped into her. They moved in sync, and then a little sloppily as they couldn't decide if they should focus on kissing or fucking. She leaned back a little, bringing him with her so he could continue to move inside her as she continued to kiss him. And then he started to buck faster, growling against her that let her know he was close. She could forget. In this moment, she could forget everything but him. She could ride him, she could kiss him, she could give everything to him and no one else.

No one else, because no one else could save her.

Camille squeezed her eyes shut tightly as she started to come, the feeling making her head feel like it was floating above her, floating away because she was lost. She shook and gasped, almost painfully, her shaking hands digging into the backs of his shoulders to keep her anchored to sanity. Bane growled so deeply he didn't sound human, pressing his face into her neck and latching his teeth on her skin as he emptied inside of her, forgetting himself. Forgetting as she forgot. She was here. She'd never been taken away. She had never been hurt and he had never suffered without her. His rope to the sky, pulling him out of the pit and into freedom. He could feel the sun. He could taste the air. A life without her was a life spent in the pit. And without Bane, it was a life in the dark hole with blades and blood. But right now, they could be one.

One flesh, without loneliness.

* * *

The rest of the time the syringe had given was spent in a kiss. Camille had been compliant as Bane sampled her skin some more, tasting her in a way that seemed like he'd never tasted anything before in his life. He kissed her face, her neck, moving his way down until every inch of her was marked with his mouth. The inside of her elbow, the curve of her hip, the valley between her breasts, every inch as delicious as the next. And Camille let him, lying there with her eyes closed, a sigh escaping her lips every time he would nip somewhere she found extra pleasurable. She could do this to him whenever she wanted. Now, it was his turn.

He may not get another chance. Not for a long time, if ever again.

And when he'd hovered over her, about to kiss her, she noticed the discomfort in his eyes, the slight shake of his head as he tried to push back the disappointing truth that the time limit was nearing.

"You're hurting," she whispered to him.

"I can last." He nipped at her lips, trying to brush the matter aside as nothing important. But she could tell, and he could feel it coming back. "It isn't that bad at the moment."

Camille watched his face as she slid her arms around his neck, pulling him close as she accepted the truth too. She would never resent the mask, neither would he. But both of them couldn't help but feel bittersweet as the three hours came to an end. She kissed his mouth softly, that mouth she hardly got to see, that lovely mouth she could crave. She was still in the sweet void of forgetting everything besides the moment, and kissed him like she'd never kissed another man before. Very bittersweet. Almost tragic.

But the pain was rising, and then he could barely breathe.

He started to lean up and away from her, did it very slowly as she leaned up too, chasing his mouth with kisses to his lips. He held her face in his hands, kissed her repeatedly, peck after peck after peck, like he could stop time and hold it right here.

And when the pain became too much, it was Camille that latched the mask back onto his face.

The hiss of the gas filled the room, the deep, mechanical sounds of his breathing and his voice joining it. Back to reality. Back to life.

At least reality kept the pain away.

But reality could also bring pain. Moments later, as Bane lounged on the bed on his back breathing in his medicine, Camille sat on the side, her back to him as she stared at the floor.

Everything came flooding back as soon as the intimacy had stopped.

Her eyes wandered over the floor, looking at their clothing like she couldn't figure out how they'd gotten there. Slowly, she reached down, picked up her back long-sleeved shirt and pulled it on, not caring about a bra or panties. She knew her body still held the sickly color of fading yellow bruises, knew that her upper arms and her neck were still ringed with red from a tight, chafing collar and burning electrodes. And now she had bandages on her forearms, covering more cuts.

She'd never been tortured before. It could be said that she'd tortured herself during her years growing up, that her mother had tortured her mentally from abuse. But nothing like what she'd gone through at Arkham. Being asked questions about Bane, her refusing to answer them, and being punished in return.

It felt as if all those years without her mother had meant nothing. Like they'd never happened at all. And it was hard to deal with. She looked around the apartment, at all the things that had been hers. It seemed so far away since she'd used them. Almost as if they belonged to a different person entirely.

"Camille." Bane called her, watching her from his side of bed. He didn't want to say that the room had taken a nose dive into the awkward, but it suddenly didn't feel the same. Maybe he had hurt her. Maybe sex really had been too soon.

"Are you feeling okay?" she asked in return, keeping her back to him.

"Yes," he answered, and watched her rub her hands at her thinned hair. "Will you tell me what happened to you?"

Camille absently reached up to touch her lips. Something wasn't right here. Something wasn't familiar, not like how it used to be. She repeated Bane's question in her mind, considered it. And felt horrible shame. Shame she didn't want to discuss with him just yet. "I don't want to," she whispered.

"Camille," he repeated, and sat up on the bed with a grunt. He felt oddly drained from being without the mask when he should have put it back on after a certain point. "You will tell me… if you are not feeling well?"

More shame. How could she do that to him? How could she let him find her the way he had in the bathroom? For a small moment, she felt like she wasn't good enough for him. "I will," she said, giving him the only peace of mind she could give.

"Where are you going?" he asked almost sternly, keeping his eyes fixed on her as she got up from the bed and padded into the bathroom.

"I need to clean up." Bane's release was starting to drip down the inside of her thighs, feeling almost cool against her heated skin. "I want to look like myself." Her voice seemed small, with a hint of desperation as he heard her rummage through drawers in the bathroom. He decided to give her thirty seconds before he would check on her.

And then he stared at her, almost mesmerized, when she came back out with dark red lips.

Those bold lips on his woman was the loveliest sight he'd ever seen.

Camille didn't know how the lipstick would look with the scarring cut on her mouth. But at the moment, of wanting to feel like the woman she'd been before her capture, she hardly cared. She felt oddly on the verge of completion, like she'd been a half-finished painting that had only needed that one splash of color that would make the whole picture. Her lipstick felt like part of her identity, almost like how Bane's mask was a part of his. And she'd needed it back.

She crawled back into bed, an ache between her legs and a sudden exhaustion falling on her like a pile of bricks, and fell asleep to Bane's petting hand on her hair.

* * *

Camille didn't know how long she'd been sleeping, but she wanted nothing more than to continue doing it. She slept and slept and slept, waking only when she would feel her lover leave the bed. She would sit up, wait patiently for him to come back before falling into slumber again. She had slept so very alone and sad in her cell. And she found that she couldn't sleep peacefully without him now.

_Don't leave me, don't leave me_, her mind would chant until he returned, until he came back to bed to hold her.

She was asleep again, asleep because nothing seemed better. This was her own bed, her own blankets, her man. And she never wanted to leave it. She didn't know if only hours had passed, days, weeks. She only knew she would wake up for a bit to do what Bane wanted her to do, to eat, drink something, fix her bandages, before going right back to sleep. And now, as she was wakened by a maneuvering hand, her eyes fluttered open as Bane pushed her onto her back. She could feel his girth on the bed, a heavy presence that seemed to anchor it to the floor.

He sat on the side, gazing down at her and proceeding to open a jar in his hands. He had changed her shirt however long ago, and had braided her hair back so that it wouldn't bother her face. Brushing a few stray strands away from her forehead, he dipped his fingers into the jar and began smearing something on the cut on her bottom lip and chin.

It felt cool, so very comforting and so very soothing. She remained still as he worked, looking at his fingers and seeing that whatever he was putting on her was mint green in color and pasty in texture. Her lips were still red, the paint being reapplied every time she would see it fading, but he smeared the paste right over it, packing it on.

"What is this?" she asked, and wondered if that weak, groggy little squeak was her own voice.

"A gift from your lady friend," he answered, smearing it on the way the instructions had told him to. "Ms. Isley says this will help with the cut." Pamela had called once she'd heard about the raid at Arkham Asylum. Bane had told her he had Camille, and of his woman's injuries. A day later, a pretty little package was delivered to his doorstep with _Dr. Lane_ written on a tag in beautiful cursive handwriting. "She likes you."

Camille sighed, now feeling the pasty substance underneath her bandages on her forearms as well. Apparently this was the crowd that was her close circle. A terrorist to an army of exotic mercenaries who was her lover, and a gorgeous mass-murdering sociopath who acted like her best friend.

But she would take them over the world any day.

Bane applied more of Pamela's healing minty paste, and Camille watched his face. Soon it would be time to tell Bane what had happened to her. But for right now, she still didn't want to talk about it, and her shame was still a heavy weight. Instead, her thoughts drifted elsewhere. To something she suddenly wanted… desperately.

"I would say yes to you," she began softly, feeling his fingers pull at her skin as he smeared the paste. "If you asked me."

Bane's hand stopped, his fingers resting on her mint green chin in silence. And only remembering what she was talking about. That very late night, huddled close together and talking about things that couldn't happen for them. Things they probably had no business talking about. A fantasy.

_If I asked you… to be my wife…_

_I would say yes. _

She had said that. She had answered him that way.

"If I asked you," Camille said, speaking slowly. "Would you say yes?"

Her saying yes to him if he were to ask her was a fantasy. Her asking him was inconceivable. Who would ask him that? Who would ever think that marriage was an option when it came to him? Marriage was a fantasy, he'd once told her. A fantasy from the pit that was nothing but. Bane could only look back at her, until finally an answer came to him. "I would."

It was just a game, he thought. A stupid game they would play with each other, a game that could never be true because of how they lived their lives. It hadn't worked out for her before with Jackson Lane, and for him it was something that could never be. Nothing but a game. A joke. A fantasy. Bane removed his hand from her chin, began to lift himself from the bed. Camille took his wrist, pulled him back. Looked up at him seriously.

"Will you?" she asked in a whisper.

And suddenly it wasn't a fantasy anymore.

He could only stare at her.

_What makes a wife? What makes a husband? _

How could he explain what it had been to watch a woman he thought had been her get shot in the head and killed, to know that he'd never see her again, even during his search for her? To know that he might have lost her in an instant if he had been too late? He knew she'd faced death countless time, a horrible death of bleeding out. He had faced it with her. They'd had each other's blood on their hands before. How could he tell her what it had felt like to feel that blood slide down his back as he'd pulled her from the tub? She caused him misery. She caused him pain.

Lying down there now with goop on her face, Bane knew that he would take the misery and the pain over even an ounce of the suffering he'd experienced without her.

_Will you? _

"Yes," he murmured.

And for the first time in a long time, Camille smiled up at him.

No more fantasies.

* * *

She was sleeping, and she was dreaming.

She was trapped in a nightmare.

She was in the asylum again, running, running, running. Running from the voice of her mother on the loudspeaker as it chased her like a demon. The halls were dark and the other inmates howled at her, trying to rip her to shreds as their pale arms reached through the bars. _Come back_, they cried to her. _Come back and suffer with us. _

Her mother's voice was an invisible presence, following her everywhere she went. Alcina always knew where she was, could find out anything about her in the blink of an eye. Jeremiah was there too, a walking corpse with one eye a hollow hole, the other a bloody mess from the impact of a bullet. He held up the electrodes to her, a dead blind man, telling her it was time for therapy. Telling her the therapy would stop if only she told them where her masked man was. And then she saw the Joker, his bloody, horrific smile beaming at her as he held a switchblade, tossing it from hand to hand in glee.

_Time to finish the job, honey. _

And then he laughed.

Camille covered her ears, trying to block it out, trying to find the exit so she could go back where she belonged. Bane was waiting for her. Bane needed her to take care of him. He was lost without her. He had said yes.

_The hole is your home, baby girl. _

And then she screamed.

In reality, Bane had crawled into bed with her as she slept on, pulling her close and resting her head on his forearm. His own sleepy eyes were drifting shut, finally able to rest now that she was safe and sound and here.

She began to shake.

Bane watched her for a moment, thought it would pass like some of the other nightmares she would have. Her face would crinkle up every second or two, her shoulders hunching like she were trying to hide. And once she began to thrash in her sleep, Bane grabbed her and tried to wake her up.

Camille jumped as her eyes snapped open, as wakefulness consumed her. She knew where she was, knew who she was with. She stared at the middle of Bane's chest, a blank stare, almost as if she were discovering something that could change everything. Bane watched her carefully, wondering if she was still asleep.

And then she burst into tears.

He wasn't prepared, and he didn't know what to do. Camille crying was something that rarely ever happened. In fact, he'd only seen her do it twice. To watch her cry now seemed like too much, too many times for him to watch her sadness fall down her cheeks. She cried hysterically, a long while of repressed tears finally leaking from her eyes, a sound that cut him inside. She covered her face with her hands, sobbed into her palms. And feeling out of rational ideas, Bane could only scoop her up into his arms and hold her, rocking her like a child. Instantly she wrapped her arms around his neck, sobbed onto his shoulder. He held her close, sliding a hand into her hair to give her some kind of comfort.

A darkness glazed over his eyes as he rocked his crying woman. She was this way now because she had been hurt. She was injured, she was sad, and she was crying. Certain people had hurt what was his. Certain people had made her cry.

Bane would kill them all.

**TBC**

**A/N: Sorry about the wait, loves. But it was a very big chapter, and I only want to give you the best. In case anyone is wondering, **_**Amaranthine**_** should be completed at 25 chapters, so we're nearing the end. I'm sorry if it seems so long, but I wanted to make you guys feel as if you were reading a real novel. Hopefully I've accomplished that. Thank you so very much for all the reviews. They really keep me going. Also, we can do Q&A. Ask me whatever you want, regarding anything. I'm an easy-going gal, and if you have a question, don't be afraid to ask. Thank you again, my darlings. And look forward to the next chapter. It's very important. **


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